They had waited years for this moment. Many had never imagined that this day would have ever come, but they were overjoyed that it had arrived.

The Chandrila Patriots took the field at historic Stoney End Park for their return to the Elite League.

The reason that it was something that the Patriot Nation had never thought they'd see was because it was their return. The Patriots had played 110 consecutive seasons in the Elite League, the longest of any team save the Senators, before they had been demoted to the Premier League after the 265 ABY season. They had been founding members of the Elite League and to have been dumped so unceremoniously had been nothing short of a shame for the entire planet, for Patriot fans everywhere. But they were back and they had packed the sold out Stoney End Park to welcome the Patriots back.

These Patriots had started strong on Ylesia with a commanding 23-2 victory against the other rookie team for 273 ABY. They had come out and made a statement that this was where they belonged, that the Chandrila Patriots hadn't missed a beat. They'd done it in commanding fashion and they'd done it with a much different look than the Patriots of yore. The Chandrila Patriots had traditionally been a primarily human team, but unlike the Bakura Miners they'd always had non-humans on their roster season after season. Even so, like the planet itself, the Patriots were more human than they were non-human.

These Patriots were not. In fact, only two starters on the 273 Patriots were human. It was thanks to one being that the Patriots had been completely revamped and she stood on the sideline now as her green and white players ran onto the field. Reina Kether had not been on the field at Stoney End in the Elite League since 258 ABY. It was good to be back.

Her playing career alone had gotten Kether inducted into the Limmie Hall of Fame, plus coaching them to the 269 Premiership. But as had been the case as a player, Kether was nowhere near done. She was here to bring the Patriots back to greatness and the a home game against the defending Galactic Cup champions was just what the doctor ordered.

From the sidelines she looked at the Rough Rider goal and Zeke Barbosa, preparing for the start of the game. "Oh how I'd love to take some shots on you," Kether said. She was too far away for Zeke to even remotely be able to hear her, but she smiled in his direction, "Pick that upper right corner on you...it'd be a thing of beauty." She'd told her team in the locker room that she wanted to see lots of shots on Barbosa. The more that they put on him, the better. He'd crumble under the pressure, Kether knew it.

Two wins in hand going into Solo Conference play would be a nice thing to have--not to mention there was one Patriot tradition she couldn't wait to hear again if they won.

The game had gone precisely as Setarcos had planned. Their solid midfield was supported by their experienced defense and electrified by their youthful offence. It was clear that the Starkillers were out matched by the play of the Monarchs three veterans: Mara, Biedo, and Laura. All of this was a good sign, except that they were able to accomplish off this without the help of Greenly Zo. Setarcos had told her that she was going to sit and that she did. As a matter of fact, she did not even dress in her uniform since she knew there was no chance that she was going to play.

And that was the first question the report asked him, “Coach Rhemes, congratulations on opening the season with a convincing win, but I have to ask, what spurred your decision to bench Greenly Zo?”

“Well, we didn’t have the opportunity to face off with the Starkillers last season so based on the footage we watched from last year we knew this was the group we needed to field today to pull off the win.” Setarcos’s answer come out as if he had rehearsed it one hundred times before.

“So do you plan on keeping her on the bench for the match against the Jets next week?”

“That’s going to be a game time decision, but we are definitely going to try to shake things up and keep them guessing.” Once again he avoided the question even though he already knew that until Greenly’s attitude changed she would be spending a lot of time watching the game.

“From your past with the Jets it looks like they have been the ones to keep you guessing. Other than the combined records of the Force and the Senators, the team you have the worst winning percentage against is the Jets and they also have outscored you by an average of 12 points per game. You have allowed them to score a total of 129 points over 5 matches. Once again only the Senators/Force have scored more points. So what do you plan on doing to neutralize Phil Brooks?”

Setarcos hated playing the Jets and hated Brooks even more, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud, “Brooks is an… interesting… player and we have added a lot of solid defenders to our squad. Plus we have the advantage of playing in front of a home crowd.”

Before the reporter had the opportunity to ask another question Setarcos ended the interview and headed back to Rydonni Prime to get ready for their home opener.

The bolo-ball was her worst enemy today as it bounced off every support of the lower half of the goal on the way to making the Storm look like the defending Galactic Cup champions. The defense had utterly broken down today as the Storm’s offensive unit tore their way into the backfield time and again, overloading the box, and sending Meredith to the grassy turf with nothing to show but anger and disappointment.

As the game wound down to its bitter conclusion, Meredith realized that she had been humbled by the Limmie Gods. This was her punishment for being so cocky, so sure, so overly-confident that home field advantage would once again rear its supportive head in her bid to take home one last ring. But she was counting her chickens before they hatched. And now she was paying for it, correction, had paid for it, by the brutal, surgical slices of a Euceron team that had been Chambers’ worst nightmare in recent years.

She shook hands with the Storm captain, whispered words of encouragement, good luck, and then headed off the field. The stadium had emptied well before the game ended. The fans weren’t so thrilled at seeing their team shut out by what they viewed as ELL upstarts. But sometimes the cookie crumbled that way. Sometimes you got knocked on your rear by the blow you don’t see coming. That was what happened today. That was what could happen on any game day. That was what made Elite League Limmie great. On paper strength mattered not to teams that had the drive and desire to stick it to the old guard. Euceron had won, fair and square.

Meredith rubbed her bruised jaw. She’d taken a stinger right in the face toward the end of the game. Yeah, Euceron packed some punch. That squad had told Meredith Chambers to move over. And, whether she cared to admit it or not, she had yieled to their request today, over and over again.

So long Euceron.

[hr][/hr]

“Meredith! Meredith!” A reporter yelled.

Meredith stopped in her tracks. She was dressed in street threads, wore sunglasses to cover a nasty bruise around her left eye, and turned to face the media.

“Next week is the return of the Burgundy and Green Brawl. The Smugglers have led the series since 262 ABY. What do you think about the Patriots re-entering the league and challenging for the top spot in the Solo Conference?”

“I welcome any challenge from the Patriots. We’ve played long and hard and I expect there’s going to be a lot of dirt flying that game. I don’t feel that past dominance by the Smugglers in the Kayl’hen Era is anything to go by. As was proved today, any given game day a team can lose that many expect to win. All I can do is have the squad prepared and ready to go come game day. The rest is up to chance.”

“Reina Kether was quite the player in her day. She now coaches a radically different Patriots squad from those of the past. Do you feel the addition of non-humans has made them even more dangerous?”

“I think that Reina Kether is a very talented woman. She’s pushed hard to have the Patriots back in the league and she’s not going to just roll over and take it from the Smugglers. As far as non-humans versus humans, I don’t believe in that stuff. That’s prejudiced talk. Beings play the game the way they play the game. There isn’t an advantage, trust me,” Meredith replied.

“The Smugglers face three straight weeks of games against old rivals. Since this is your last season, which rivalry is the one you’ll miss the most?”

“Who says I’m going to miss them?” Meredith replied with a smile. “In all honesty, each rivalry has a very different feel, a different history, a different tradition. I can’t compare them. Would be like comparing a Hutt to a Bothan, simply no comparison. As far as this three week stretch coming up, again, the team will be prepared. It won’t be easy, but then again, nothing worthwhile ever is. I’d love for us to come out of the next three weeks with a winning record and the scars to show it. Those are the time when you know your team can stand up to anything. When you play against old rivals and beat them fair and square.”

“Meredith, one last question.”

“Shoot.”

“There are rumors circulating that you and Alana Glencross are going to be a little risqué and pose for some men’s magazines, any truth to those rumors?”

Meredith laughed and shook her head. “Really?”

The reporter nodded.

“Well, uh,” Meredith wasn’t sure what to say. She had been approached a few weeks back to do a suggestive shoot for the popular magazine Gearhead. It would all be tastefully done, of course, but the proceeds from the shoot would go to charity. She hadn’t talked with Glencross about the idea. Chambers did have a nice figure, but having millions of guys drool over her for all the wrong reasons, well, she wasn’t so sure about that. “You’ll know when I know.”

Meredith turned to walk away and once again the reporters tried to hound her. She brushed them off. Whistled for a taxi and headed for home.

When she got home, Meredith turned on HSN tonight. It was a strange habit. But it was actually pretty valuable. She got to watch highlight reels from games around the league and then critique her performance in the Holonet broadcast of the game she played. Watching the Storm kick her rear over and over was rough but made a little easier by the greasy, buttery, popcorn she devoured while studying what had gone wrong.

When the highlights were over, the following video played:

Wow, the guys at HSN had done a great job, one final tribute to a great rivalry. Sure, the game wasn’t for a few weeks, but that week was sure to be busy with all the media access. One final battle between Glencross and Chambers, and she knew that suddenly, the Black and Blue battle was and would always be her favorite of the big three rivalries.

This game was, simply put, intense. Neither defense was giving an inch, and the offenses for both Coruscant and Onderon were completely stagnant. It was like someone had put them both in a plastic bag to rot in the sun, they were so bad. All conventions of offense were off in this game; no one passed well, running was impossible, and hardly ever was a shot thrown that even came near the goalie, whether that was Brad Pamjer for the Crazy Dragons or Venn Sto for the Senators. On the flip side, the defenses were as perfect as could be. Tackles were made in space, loose balls were picked up and shuffled off to the absolute maelstrom in the middle of the field, and hits were huge.

Pam scratched her chin as the seconds ticked off the clock at the end of the first half. The high-octane Senator attack was being absolutely stymied, and Andrew Mundle, the Senator offensive coordinator, had no idea what to do. However, almost right next to him, Palla Tyroti was calling her best game ever on defense. The 5-2-7 zone was working like a charm. Zummarrorroo, who came on frequently as the so-called “nickel” back in these defense, was holding his ground in the middle of the half back line. Every time an Onderon forward came near him, the Wookiee made sure that their stay was painful. This allowed Saram Golyxi, the Center Half Back, to roam in space at the top of the zone, helping the midfielders harass their opponents as they came up field. Shayt Contar and Jerek Deter were lights-out so far, Deter absolutely mauling Onderon forward Carvin Spork at one point. Venn was rock-solid in goal, his mind focused on the boloball at all times. Whenever the ball was in the Senator defensive zone, his eyes shifted warily, making sure not to lose sight of it.

When the horn sounded out for halftime, the Senators regrouped in the locker room. Pam encouraged her defense to keep up their suffocating defense, and urged the offense to try and kick it into gear. It was obvious that this game would be low-scoring, so any points to help out would be nice. She also made a plan to stick Izzi Polakaya in for Demetra Silkins; although Silkins was a natural scorer, she was being outclassed in the middle of the field today, and Pam had decided to fight fire with fire. If Onderon was going to play rough in the middle of the field, the Senators were only too willing to oblige. Polakaya and Alysha Romax were the Senators’ best defenders, and would thus play the majority of the minutes in the second half.

Things went swimmingly for the first few minutes . . . at least for the defense. Max Qorbus got blasted by Jenna Leed, and landed in a heap on the ground. He shook off the hit, but he had been visibly shaken by the impact, and was slow to get back in position. That seemed to be the story of the game thus far.

The Crazy Dragons were moving the ball forwards, and somehow they broke through a Romax tackle to get into the offensive attack zone. Saram came out to challenge this move, and then dove in for the tackle. However, what she didn’t see was Shaun Harris. The Onderon forward came over to provide a screen for his teammate, but Saram had already extended her arms out in front of her to make the tackle. Harris steamrolled Saram in the legs, and the Zeltron went down hard, the ballcarrier unaffected by the play. But Saram didn’t get up; all she did was stick her head into the turf and grab her knee.

The ball was stopped by a great play from reserve corner back Pasla Tesh, after which the referees finally figured out that there was an injured player on the field. There were only a few murmurs from the crowd; although Saram wasn’t a star, and had been much maligned last season when the Senators had struggled in the early going of the season, she had made up for that with great performances in the first two games of this season. The trainers ran out to check on her, but the diagnosis wasn’t good. It took several minutes to get her off the turf, and then they needed to use a cart to wheel her off the field. The fans in the stadium cheered for her as she exited, but the team already knew that she was probably gone for the season. Just what they didn’t need.

“Zum,” Pam called out to the Wookiee. “Keep at it in that formation.” The Wookiee nodded. “Ortho,” she said to her former defensive stalwart on Thyferra. “You take Center Half. I’m counting on you out there.”

“Got it,” the Twi’lek said. He had started over a dozen games in the Elite League over the years, so Pam knew she could trust him to make plays. Normally, she would have shifted the hot hand, Zummarrorroo, over to fill in for an injured starter, but his style of play in this game was easily going to tire him out if he played the rest of the half. Instead, Pam was intent on keeping him as fresh as possible. Ortho had only played sparingly in the first half, so his legs were fresh.

When play resumed, nothing changed. Adding Ortho to the defense just made it even more airtight; he was calling out schemes for the midfielders to follow, which they only sometimes needed but at least could appreciate since he was a ‘hybrid’ midfielder in this scheme. Harris came by him with the ball, and Ortho brought him down with a good form tackle.

As the minutes counted down, Pam nervously looked at the scoreboard. The score was still knotted at 0; it had been several years since the last 0-0 regulation tie. Polis Vayne tried to create space, but Leed hit him and caused a forced fumble. The Crazy Dragons made a run for it, blowing through the midfielders for Coruscant and rushing the goal. Jerek missed a tackle, a rarity for today, and Venn was the last line of defense. The forward threw the ball at the corner of the goal, but Venn leaped up to block it. The ball skittered out of bounds.

On the inbounds, Dirxx intercepted the ball and then chucked it upfield to clear it. Alysha grabbed the ball, but was instantly hit and dropped the ball. Ravil Gynordis groaned; this was not the game plan at all coming in.

As the last few seconds ticked off the clock, it was obvious that this one would be going extra time. Pam put in her reserves to keep her starters at least somewhat rested, but another fifteen minutes would definitely grind them down. When the horn finally sounded signaling the end of regulation, the Senator players walked off the field to the sideline. Pam got down onto one knee and began to sketch out her plans with the team huddled around her.

“Defense, I know you’re tired today. But we need fifteen more minutes; I’d hate to get this far just to break down in OT. Offense, I need something from you. Even if that means taking a long shot, just do it. If you have the angle, even from midfield, take the shot. We need a bar point or two. Midfield, keep taking their punches; we’re wearing them out, so just keep hammering away. We can win this game, but we need to work together for another fifteen. You got it?”

Silence followed. Everyone was tired, and Pam could tell. Dirxx looked gassed as he took a swig of Gundarkade; Shayt rubbed her face with a towel to clear off the sweat. “We’ve come this far only to get a 0-0 tie,” Pam said, trying to break the silence. “We can be heroes, or we can be bantha fodder. You know something, we can be heroes. We can win this game, go to 2-0 on the season, and give our fans something to be proud of. Let’s go out there and show Onderon why they don’t mess with the Senators. When teams beat us down, we get right back up. So what if they have Little Miss MVP out there on defense? Our defense is just as good, if not better. Make ‘em work, and give ‘em hell. We are the Heroes today; go out there and take it.”

The extra period was just as fierce as the regulation period. However, things quickly got sour when Onderon scored a pair of bar points with only a few minutes left. This took the air of the sails for the fans, who figured that it was time to leave for their vehicles. Pam wiped some sweat from her brow; this was getting intense. In all her time coaching, this was easily the second-most nerve-wracking game she had coached. The highest one had been that nail-biter in the 270 Chancellor’s Cup opening game against Rydonni Prime, won 4-3 by Thyferra. That had been a real test, and this one was shaping up in the same mold.

Polis finally broke through and fed Syprul. The Shistavanen held the ball aloft in the air to keep it away from the shorter defender, and finally just chucked the ball towards the goal. Pamjer couldn’t stop it, and the ball sailed over the bar to cut the lead in half. A minute later, Syprul once again had the ball. He passed it out to Lokesh Fil’ish, who set the play. Thirty seconds were left on the clock, and Pam knew that this was her team’s last chance to score in this game. They didn’t need a goal here; a bar point would do just fine. The Bothan finally chucked it over to reserve Zadd, the Defel. Zadd ran around a screen by Max Qorbus, and sprung into the open part of the Onderon zone defense. His diminutive size gave him an advantage, as a taller Onderon defender whiffed on a tackle attempt. Zadd zig-zagged his way through the defense, finally kicking the ball off his foot when he knew he had to put up a shot. Pamjer’s fingertips grazed the ball, but it wasn’t enough. The ball sailed above the bar, tying the game up with only a few seconds left on the clock. Zadd was mobbed by his teammates, and Pam has a sickening sense of satisfaction looking at the Onderon sideline. They looked crushed.

This game was going double OT, which was a treat to watch but hell for the players. It was akin to playing a whole extra half of a typical game, and the players were usually gassed. “We’ve gotten this far,” Pam said in the huddle. “We need to make sure that this is the final extra period. We’re going to win this game and go home.”

A quick Onderon point was countered by a Senator point via Bel Erein, tying the game back up at 3. Onderon added another one off a deflection by Jerek that sailed past Venn’s fingers.

“Double Z, Right Hook!” Pam called out. Lokesh took the ball off the inbounds and tossed it to Zadd. The Defel weaved his way around a tackle attempt and passed to Syprul. Syprul knocked over his defender and rushed towards the goal. Polis had finished a buttonhook maneuver that got him to the goal, and he was instantly fed by the Shistavanen. Leed and another defender double-teamed Polis, trying to screen him from going anywhere or passing. It was a great trap play, but Polis was smart. Moen Heatly came in to relieve Polis, and the assistant captain threw the ball to his teammate. Moen, on a no-look shot, whizzed a goal past Pamjer. The Senator crowd erupted in cheers as Moen jumped up in the air in celebration. 6-4 Senators.

Riff Persnor, coming off the bench to relieve Moen, was intent on adding to the lead. After a nice play on defense by Salata, the ball made its way back into play for the Senators on offense. Riff had the ball, dodged a tackle, and then painted the side of the net with a twisting shot. It landed hard in the mesh net, giving the Senators a 9-4 advantage late. Onderon would never recover.

When the horn sounded, the Senator team and fans celebrated the hard-fought win. It hadn’t been easy . . . but since when had the Senators ever played “easy”? They were now headed into conference play with a spotless record, something they hoped would stay that way after their next game, a home tilt in the now-called Senatorial Showdown against Bakura. It was going to be a big game as usual, and a win would mean a lot for the Senator faithful against their bitter rivals.

“Coach, how does it feel to pull off a Double OT win against the Commissioner’s Trophy winners from last year?” came a question.

“It was nerve-wracking, but very satisfying,” Pam replied. “My defense never gave up, and the offense finally came alive when we needed them to. Overall, not a pretty game, but I’ll take an ugly victory.”

“You have a game against Bakura next week here on Coruscant. How are you going to prepare for that?”

“Resting up from this game is my first priority,” Pam said. “We’ll do our usual pre-game planning and do what we do best for next week’s game; play Senators Limmie.”

When she got to the locker room, Pam washed her face in one of the sinks. Sweat had been steadily accumulating on her face throughout the game, so it felt nice to wash all that off. At least the stress had been good for something; her team was 2-0, and at least for a few moments she knew she could cherish the moment. Because with Bakura coming to town, nothing was certain except that it was going to be a rough one.

The game between the Senators and the Crazy Dragons had been raging for a solid fifteen minutes. Gark was interested in noting how well both defenses were doing; it was a classic defensive struggle where neither team wanted to concede anything. He had been through a few of these games during his coaching days, but there was nothing like having to coach in one. Now he could just sit back and watch from the team luxury box.

Gark felt the comm. unit in his pocket buzz. He instantly whipped it out and flipped it on. After a few words came out of the speaker, he shut it off and ran to the door.

“Hey, boss, where are you going?” Londy asked.

“My wife’s in labor. Her water just broke,” Gark said. “I gotta get to the hospital; see you all later, hopefully still in one piece.”

“Good luck, man,” Londy said.

Gark shot out of the suite like a madman, which, of course, he was in this state. Almost plowing over a hapless Duro, and having to apologize frantically as he went when the other man got upset, Gark made his way to the lift. There he waited for a minute or two, wishing he could pry the doors open with brute force.

“Any place in particular?” the lift operator asked when the Bothan entered the car.

“Get me to the team parking lot as fast as you can,” Gark said, gulping in big breaths of air as he sputtered out this sentence. The lift door closed, and even if anyone had asked for the lift on a lower floor, they were out of luck on this trip. The operator had used the “express” button, which came in handy for times when someone in a suite needed to be somewhere fast and couldn’t wait for another stop before reaching their destination. Gark felt terrible for having to leave the game so early, but he knew he had to go. The team would have to go on without him for the rest of this one.

At the bottom of the lift, Gark immediately tore out at high speed, almost ramming into another speeder as he tried to change directions mid-stride. Finally he made it to his, which he inserted the key into but couldn’t get the lock to open. “Dammit!” he hissed underneath his breath as he wrestled with the lock. Finally the stubborn thing conceded the battle to him, and he was able to fling the door open. It almost nailed a nearby post, but just barely missed it, and Gark hauled himself inside the speeder. Revving up the engine, he reached out and closed the door with a much harder amount of force than he typically applied to speeder doors; he typically would care a ton about that, but for now a potential scrape on the door hinge was the least of his worries.

Peeling out into the regular parking lots from the Senators’ team one, Gark navigated quickly through the packed lot and made his way to the Hyperlane. As soon as he pulled on to it, he was almost rear-ended by another speeder, and Gark shouted quite a few profanities at the reckless driver. Of course, he wasn’t exactly obeying speed limits or proper driving techniques either, so he wasn’t the best driver out there. He tuned in to the game on the radio; there was an injury timeout for one of the Senators players, so Gark had to hope that it wasn’t going to be a serious blow to the team moving forwards.

After about five minutes, Gark took the exit that he wanted, and started to move around the rather-quiet lanes down in the city below. It looked like most of this part of the city weren’t out at this time due to the Senators game, which was good for him. Someone scored a point, but Gark didn’t catch who it was because he was preoccupied with trying to drive.

About ten minutes later, he found the turn-in for the Numifolis Memorial Hospital, aptly named for the Senators’ Hall of Fame hero. Gark found it funny that it wasn’t named for a civic icon like a Supreme Chancellor or diplomat, given Coruscant’s history. Perhaps the resurgence of the Senators had made some heads turn after all in this sector of society.

Parking rather haphazardly in the first spot he could find, he sprinted across the lot, trying to dodge traffic as he went. The doors opened automatically for him as he entered the building and ran up to the front desk, still panting hard from that hard sprint. He was still in good physical shape from almost-daily jogs, but he typically administered his speed a little different, and thus this quick burst had tired him out much faster than normal, not to mention that amount of stress that he was feeling due to the situation. He tried to say something to the desk secretary, but the woman knew what he was there for. The good thing about being a planet-wide icon was that your mug was recognized almost everywhere.

“Room 427A,” the secretary said.

“Thank you,” Gark mouthed out as he ran to the lift. His mind raced; this was it. It was so bad that he didn’t hear what was shouted back to him as he ran down the hall. He was causing a real ruckus in the place, as hospital staff tried to stay out of his way. If Gark S’rily was in a hurry, people let him pass. So face recognition was good for something after all . . .

He made it to the lift, but found that he had just missed one. He wanted to curse, but this was a hospital; that wouldn’t be tolerated, so he decided to just vent his anger mentally. Pressing the call button several times, he felt like he was dancing in place because he was so tense.

“Excuse me, sir, but we urgently need to take this next lift,” said a nurse, helping wheel a gurney towards the lift. Gark decided that it was best to let this person go first; from the looks of it, they needed surgery badly.

“Go,” Gark said. When the next lift came, he waited as the gurney was wheeled in and the lift doors closed. After it had left, he punched the button once more. About a minute passed before one finally came. He was ready to jump into it and go, but a swarm of off-duty doctors and other medical personnel flooded out, and Gark had to wade through them to get inside. Another person joined him in the lift, then another, and finally a family of four. Gark was wedged into the back of the lift car, with the small child in front of him howling about being hungry. And, of course, these people wanted the second and third floors; how typical.

The lift slowly ground upwards to the second floor. The other two people got off, but the four didn’t. Gark looked at his watch; it had been almost half an hour after he had left the stadium. He silently cursed himself for not planning ahead on this, but at least the Senators had been playing a home game. Had they been on the road, Gark would have only been able to wait and hope that everything was going smoothly.

Finally the lift hit the third floor, and the family got off. Someone else got on, but didn’t take any notice of Gark. As the lift doors closed, Gark knew he needed to get off. This waiting was killing him; he had to be there now.

As soon as the lift doors opened on the fourth floor, Gark was out like a shot. He blazed through the halls, taking only enough time to check the directory to see where Room 427A was. As he ran, thoughts flashed into his head; this was really happening. He would have pinched himself, but as doing so would likely cause him to swerve off wildly and probably ram down a door, he figured that it was probably better to just deal with the moment and think about it later.

Finally, he reached 427A, his breathing ragged. A Whipid doctor stood outside, watching the Bothan as he screeched to a halt outside the door. The man had a serious look on his face. “Mr. S’rily,” he said in a deadpan voice, the kind of tone you didn’t want to hear in this situation. A lump formed in Gark’s throat; what was coming now?

“There have been some . . . complications with your wife’s delivery,” the Whipid continued in this same serious voice. “I have you know that my medical team is working on it as best they can.”

“What’s going on?” Gark demanded. He knew that this probably sounded rude, but he didn’t care.

“The birthing process isn’t going according to plan,” the doctor replied. “But, we are not sure exactly what the problem is . . . I am telling you, we are working on it the best we can . . .”

“Try harder!” Gark said frantically.

“We are trying as hard as we can,” the doctor repeated. “You must control yourself; there is nothing you or I can do now. We must trust that my team knows what to do . . .”

But Gark wasn’t paying attention. He had glued his face to the window of the room, which happened to be one of the maternity wards on this floor, so there was glass. It was odd, really, but Gark didn’t care too much about hospital design. Inside he could see several medical droids hovering in the air, plus a human and a Cathar doctor who were facing mostly away from Gark. Me’lin was sitting face-up on the bed in there in her hospital gown, her complexion extremely pale. Her medium-blue skin was turning a shade of extremely pale light blue that nearly contrasted the hue of the gown. Gark’s lump in the throat kept growing to the point where he couldn’t even utter a single sound. His eyes were transfixed on his wife’s limp body as she sat there, surrounded by the medical team in that cold, sterile environment.

Finally, her head moved slightly to the side, and her eyes met Gark’s dead-on. The two stared at each other for what seemed like ages, a picture of utter terror plastered on Gark’s face. Time seemed to drag on slowly past, the seconds almost ticking in Gark’s head as he watched. All thoughts he had of Limmie in his head had vanished; for the first time in a long time, he didn’t care about a ball game. The Twi’lek raised her arm a little over the side of the bed towards Gark, almost like she was extending her hand for him to take. The Bothan put his hand up on the glass opposite hers. This moment passed for several seconds, and her eyes started to flicker. Then, sighing, her eyes shut, and her head drooped down onto the pillow in a motionless state, not moving.

Gark wanted to smash in the glass in a rage; the doctors had just let his wife die in front of his very eyes. He wanted to pull out a knife, or a blaster, and go on a killing spree. Thoughts of revenge filled his mind; he was going to enjoy ripping the circuits out of each medical droid as it foundered in air. The other doctors in there would be lying in a pool of blood on the floor, and the Whipid who told him to be calm . . . well, look who would be calm now . . . forever more, in an agonizing death . . . He wanted to let out a bloodlust roar and charge in there, guns blazing, ready to kill anything that moved.

At this time, his conscience came in and started to grapple with the suddenly-violent thoughts in his head. There was nothing the doctors could have done differently, his conscience reminded him. These people were medical professionals, and they had just lost this one. But wait, his violent side said, they hadn’t been doing their hardest. Didn’t they know just about everything that could go wrong in this scenario, and have taken precautions to prevent it? His conscience then retorted that even the best sometimes lost. Besides, perhaps Me’lin had some sort of condition that had caused all this that she didn’t know about previously. Anything was possible, his conscience argued, and it just happened that this time they couldn’t save their patient. It was almost like two mini Garks stood on his opposite shoulders, jabbering back and forth amongst one another at ridiculously high speed, considering that Gark had just processed what he had seen.

But he did nothing. He just felt his knees give way, and they buckled beneath him. He landed hard on his knees, enough of a jump to push him below the window. The Whipid then came over and extended a hand.

But Gark didn’t really notice; this was the worst feeling of his life. Worse than Mornd blowing up his condo. Worse than being framed for grand theft and having to leave town in an unceremonious way to avoid charges being filed. Worse than having his sister disown him over the comlink. Worse than having to hear about Aspa’s death in 264 after that speeder crash. Worse than knowing that the Senators team was in mortal peril after being kidnapped. Worse than hearing that his parents had died. Worse even than marching off to his supposed death at the hands of Mornd in the street. But none of those scenarios matched this one in terms of intensity; a major piece of him had just died.

"Today was a tough one," Kether said, "We got walked all over on our home turf. That's unacceptable. And that's the last time that I want to see it happen this season. The team is very clear about the standards that I've set for them, that the fans expect from them. I'm glad we got this out of our system now, but there's not going to be tolerance for another performance like this for the remainder of the season."

"Next week you start conference play against Nar Shaddaa. Is this a bigger rivalry game than Coruscant?"

"That's like asking which Sith Lord you think is the cuddliest," Reina said, "They're both terrible. We're lucky in that we get to host the Smugglers to renew the Burgundy & Green Brawl. Our fans expect us to raise our compete level for next week's game and I want to see my players kicking in teeth out there. These are the Nar Sha-fricking-ddaa Smugglers. They should be punished for coming in here. And I mean absolutely beat down. This is Stoney End Park and by the Force I will not have Meredith Chambers' last memory of this place be a win. And that's all I have to say today."

This represents, regretfully, a total loss of 100,000 credits on the week, bringing your current balance with Rossum to 1.35 million credits. We ardently hope for better luck on your part as conference play begins this coming week. Additionally, know that we will be happy to make discreet withdrawals on your behalf at any time. Rossum takes every precaution to safeguard our clients' privacy and assets.

The Starkillers took an early lead on the Miners and they never looked back. To their credit, the Miners weren't out of it until the end, but they never could catch Ralltiir. They'd draw within a point, and then the Starkillers would put 3 or 4 points up on them and their Sisyphusian feat had to begin again.

The poor play of the defense drew quite a bit of grumbling from the owner's box--and a lot of it was being directed at the rookie Ruunron.

"He wasn't ready," Siona said dismissively, "Cundertol should have gotten a rental player in the offseason to plug the hole."

"And burn another season on his contract?" Ronan, ever the businessman said, "I think that Cundertol was right to expect some repayment on his investment after a year."

"We're letting Detra languish in the Premier League after a year in the GCLA," Fiona pointed out.

"Because we have ridiculous forward depth. It's a luxury," Kerry said, "It's different on the back end. Our lack of depth shows there."

There was a sense of fatality to the Starkillers' march that only intensified when Ralltiir pulled away late. Ayn had seen enough losses by the Miners to know that they weren't very fun. That didn't help her cause. Though she'd been around for the Galactic Cup run in 271, Ayn didn't want her presence to even tangentially be associated with losing. The Noble House was frustrated that their crown jewel wasn't performing the way they wanted after a season where they'd led the League in point differential (the hardest metric to win in the League) and Ayn's frustration was of nearly an equal level.

"The roster freeze is next week," Siona continued, "Tell Cundertol to get off his butt and pick up a veteran half back."

"The first rule of being owner is that if you hire a GM, you don't interfere unless you're going to fire him," Kerry said, "And I have quite enough to do on Coruscant. I don't need managing the Miners on my plate."

When the game came to its regretful conclusion, the Noble House was about to disperse when Kerry called for their attention. "As you know, Coruscant next week. You're all welcome, as usual, even though it's a long flight. The week after that your presence is requested at Kilmainham Brook for the annual game the day before the Monarchs game. The usual refreshments will be provided."

"How would you feel about shaking up the pool a little bit?" Regan asked.

"How so?" Kerry asked with curiosity.

"Let's bring Miss Dormingale with us," the justice proposed.

The eyes of the box turned towards Ayn, who frankly wasn't sure what was being discussed.

"Why not? You could make for a good wild card, Ayn," Kerry said without much deliberation at all, "Assuming, that is, that you're interested?"

Ayn's danger sense up. She had no idea what she was agreeing to, but she wasn't sure if she should hesitate and ask. "That sounds lovely," Ayn said sweetly, "I'm flattered."

"Then it's settled. Kilmainham Brook for all of you in two weeks. Oisin, see if you can drag your wife out for it," Kerry said.

"She'll be following us to Coruscant for Week 4," Oisin said, "I doubt she'll be able to make it. Austin too."

"May's welcome as always," Kerry said, "She had a zinger last year. Siona, I expect to see all the Lynds here for the game."

The comment seemed important, but it was lost on Ayn. "I'll see to it," Siona replied.

The Trieste broke up shortly after that and Ayn made sure to catch a lift down with Declan--half to find out what she'd just agreed to.

"Very brave of you," Declan said.

"No, just foolish. I don't know what you were talking about," she admitted.

"We're going vornskr hunting," Declan replied.

Ayn's heart skipped a beat. "You go hunting?" she said. Hunting was a very un-Declan activity. I mean, working on farms in Telaan Valley was one thing, but hunting dangerous animals? Like vornskrs? That was shocking. Ayn had never even heard him talking about holding a blaster before. She had never even held a blaster before.

"Oh yeah. The whole family," Declan replied, "And then when you kill one you cut it open and rip the heart out and eat it raw. It's delicious."

"Wait, you're kidding aren't you," Ayn said, as she realized this was too absurd to be true.
"You should have seen your face. You looked absolutely terrified at what you'd signed onto," Declan said, punctuated by laughter.

"Why you--!" Ayn said, shoving Declan.

The lift doors opened and they stepped outside together to leave the Gardens. "No, nothing so fierce as big game hunting, but only slightly less so. It's the annual Noble House limmie game. We get together every year for a friendly match. There's enough of us that we can easily put together a limmie 7s game. Actually, I'm really surprised that Mom invited you. Nobody's ever played who isn't a member of the family."

Ayn's heart jumped. This was exactly the sort of thing she'd hoped would happen. The first non-Trieste to play the family game...it meant that they were starting to think of her as family, as worthy of being in the Noble House. "I'm flattered."

"I'd wait and see about that. You know Mom and Aunt Fiona both played Bak10 limmie right? And my sister's currently playing it. We play two hand touch, but they might be looking for a tackling dummy," Declan said.

"You're joking again," Ayn said as they arrived at the side of the private air taxi stand for the boxes.

"See you on Coruscant, Ayn," Declan said with a smile as he got into a taxi and shut the door.
Ayn watched the air taxi fly off. Her elation was now turning a little queasy. Was he joking...or was this going to be harder than she thought? It was then that Ayn realized she hadn't played limmie since high school PE. She needed to brush up, and fast.

[hr][/hr]Core Express Flight 7611, en route to CoruscantFive days later

Ayn was on her way to Coruscant for the Miners game. With the Solo Conference starting in earnest, these were the games that really counted. The conference record was the second tiebreaker after overall record and it could have huge ramifications on the playoffs. The Miners learned that the hard way two years ago when they had unexpectedly dropped from second to third based on a worse conference record than Thyferra. And just like the Miners, Ayn had realized she was going to have to ramp up her game now. She'd been invited to the Noble House annual limmie game and was going to play in it. This was her opportunity. She couldn't blow it.

"Well here's a familiar face. Headed out a day early too?"

Ayn turned from the viewport where she had been looking at hyperspace without seeing it to find Regan easing into a seat across from Ayn.

"Justice Eldred--" Ayn began, coming to her senses.

"Regan, please. We're adults," Regan said.

"Regan, what a surprise," Ayn said pleasantly, "Is your family on this flight?"

"Trixie's further back, I was just stretching my legs. I decided to take a girls' weekend on Coruscant since she's never been and Atticus and Quentin decided to stay home," Regan said, "He's got a trial and Quentin...boys will be boys."

"Yes, they will," Ayn said with a smile.

"Speaking of which, since we have a private moment, there's a reason I suggested you join us next week at Kilmainham for the game," Regan said. Ayn's ears perked up. "I'm well aware of what you're trying to do."

Ayn played it cool. "Hmmmm?" she hummed noncommittally.

"My siblings, nieces, and nephews may not see the way you look at Declan, but I have," Regan said calmly, without judgment, "Frankly, I approve. You'd be much better for him than that Durst girl. Silas Madsen may not be her father, but I remember what he was before he became Senator Madsen. I'd rather not have someone of that ilk in the Noble House. I'd rather have someone like us."

"Us?" Ayn asked.

"There have always been cunning women in the Noble House. We are what keep it alive. According to the stories, my grandmother Maeve understood that. In her own way, my sister Kerry understands that. I know you understand it," Regan said, "We did not get where we are by playing nice."

"Gentlebeings, we are preparing to revert to realspace. Please take your seats for final approach into Corsucant," a robotic voice announced throughout the ship's cabins.

"I'll see you at the game," Regan said, cutting the conversation short just when Ayn had so many questions. She still got one in.

"Regan--what did Senator Madsen do before he became a Senator?" Ayn asked.

The jurist paused for a moment. "He ran a brothel," she said and then proceeded to return to her seat.

With that knowledge rolling around in her head, Ayn turned back to the viewport once Regan had left and for the first time in her life set her eyes on Coruscant. It was a breathtaking planet, skyscrapers in every direction. Light, color, sound, motion at all hours. This was the beating heart of the galaxy, of the Republic. The fortunes of quadrillions had been made and lost here.
The planet pulsed and throbbed with energy, with excitement. It quickened Ayn's pulse. She knew that Bakura was a comparatively small planet, especially compared to a world like Coruscant, but she had never experienced it in such vibrant relief. She knew now why Kerry Trieste had been drawn here, had been called to the Chancellery. For a person of ambition, how could you not want to come to Coruscant, glittering and growing, never resting, always on the edge of modernity.

This was a place to be.

[hr][/hr]Andromeda Steel Corp. Field, CoruscantGame day

Ayn entered the Noble House's box at Andromeda Steel Corp. Field. As Chancellor, Kerry Trieste drew slightly nicer accommodations than those usually afforded to the visiting ownership and nobody objected, including Ayn. The box gave a good view of the field and was nicely furnished. This week's group was markedly smaller. The great distance to Coruscant had weeded out a lot of the Noble House. Regan and Trixie were there, so was Declan. Ronan and Mandy had come with their kids. Siona and Dorian were there with Ginnifer and Cillian, but that was it. It would be a much more intimate group than last week, which Ayn felt she could use to her advantage.

It took a couple seconds, but Ayn realized something was off--there was one very glaring person missing. "Where's the Chancellor?" Ayn asked Declan.

"Come on, I'll show you," he said, motioning for Ayn to come to the front of the box. The two peered down towards the field...

The Senatorial Guard walked in its traditional protective arrangement around the Chancellor as she stepped onto the field. It was still warm ups and that meant there were a lot of VIPs, press, and other assorted beings on the field. Though the Chancellor's presence had not been announced ahead of time, who knew who might be lurking in wait for the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic? They were alert, but they kept moving towards the Chancellor's destination--general manager of the Senators, Gark S'rily.

"Mr. S'rily," Kerry said, when they arrived, "Forgive the intrusion, but we haven't had a chance to speak since the events last year at the Senate. I wanted to take a moment to convey the appreciation of the citizens of the Republic for your heroic actions that day, for what you did for all of us, for what you stood for." She paused, trying to find the right words for what came next. "I have been told recently that you have experienced a very acute tragedy. Allow me to extend my personal and deepest condolences to you. In the face of such pain words are an injustice. I wish I could tell you that..." the Chancellor had to stop and swallow as a memory overtook her...

[hr][/hr]Salis D'aar, Bakura260 ABY

The Bakuran Civil war was barely weeks over. Though many had realized that victory by the Federal Union was inevitable ever since General Abigail Dualla's forces had taken the rich mineral reserves in the polar count of Arcterra, Dualla had only tracked down General Shi of the Maple Flag Republic and received his surrender in the last few weeks.

Prime Minister Kerry Trieste celebrated by making passionate love to her husband, Mihal Connair, in the State Apartments at Marian Square.It had been a while since Mihal and Kerry had indulged in some good sex. However, it turned out there wasn’t anything out there like peace sex. They hadn’t made love like that since college and it was with some reluctance that they’d stopped to get ready to go to the theatre that night. It had been a long time since they’d done that too and both of them wanted to enjoy a night out for a change.

Tonight they had discreetly taken out a box for themselves to see A Duros For All Seasons, a popular play in the Core that was making a tour through the Outer Rim. Despite the fact that they tried not to attract any attention, the audience noticed the arrival of the Prime Minister and the First Gentleman and applauded them as the heroes of the hour of the Civil War. Kerry and Mihal waved briefly before taking their seats and turning their attention towards the stage.

[hr][/hr]Theed, Naboo

Siona Lynd, recently-resigned Minister of State newly appointed Bakuran special envoy to the RTO, was going to tea that afternoon with a member of the Privy Council. The meeting was strictly a get-to-know-you affair, but such things were important to her mission on the planet. It would be good to have friends on the Privy Council. Siona had met Queen Camilla before through limmie games, but she had yet to formally present her credentials to the Court yet. That would happen soon enough. In the meantime it didn't hurt to make new friends.

Siona stepped out of her hovercar and headed for the townhouse apartment that this member of the Privy Council kept in Theed. She was just about to mount the first step when suddenly she was tackled by her Bakuran Marshal bodyguard with a yell of, “Blaster!” Siona was nearly knocked unconscious from hitting her head on the step. Before she knew what was what she heard the exchange of blaster fire and soon thereafter the Marshal asking her if she was okay.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Siona said, dazed from being taken to the pavement, but otherwise unharmed, “What just happened.”

“I think someone just tried to kill you,” the Marshal said, whipping out his comm, “Get me the Royal Naboo Security Forces. We have an armed gunman on the loose who just tried to assassinate Ambassador Lynd.”

Before she could say anything else, Siona was rushed inside the townhouse.

[hr][/hr]Bakuran Senate Building, Salis D'aar, Bakura

“Congratulations, Madam Deputy Prime Minister. The passage of the financial reform bill is a great accomplishment.”

“When the Prime Minister signs it tomorrow, then I will celebrate,” Sabé Dormingale said, half for the benefit of the holocameras, “It is a long overdue piece of legislation that I am glad was finally gotten around to. We have much tidying of house to do now that the war is concluded.”

“Madam Deputy Prime Minister, what will be next?” a reporter asked.

Sabé laughed. “Dinner and a drink and then into the office tomorrow morning bright and early as usual.”

Sabé was descending the steps of the Bakuran Senate Building when suddenly someone shouted, “Death to tyrants!” and pulled out a blaster. There was confusion, some shots, and the tramp of Senate Police boots followed by a volley of shots.

When everyone figured out what had happened, Sabé Dormingale was unharmed but one reporter was wounded in the arm and the assailant had been killed. Nobody knew exactly what had just happened, but the Deputy Prime Minister grabbed one of the Senate Police and said in a low, but deadly serious, voice so as not to be heard by the reporters, “Get in contact with the Marshals now. Make sure the Prime Minister is secure. Now is not a time to take chances." She did not like the feel of this.

"And while you're at it,” she added as she was forcibly carried back inside the Senate Building, "Somebody find my granddaughter."

Force help them if someone goes after Ayn... she thought.

[hr][/hr]Tessmacher Theatre, Salis D'aar, Bakura

A Duros For All Seasons turned out to be highly entertaining indeed--at least through its first act. Kerry and Mihal were enjoying themselves. In fact, when they laughed at one part, neither of them heard the thump behind them. The Federal Marshals, however, in the back of the box saw what had just happened, and they sprung into action.

Everything that happened took place in the span of a mere few seconds. The thump had been caused by a man, Rask Conterod, jumping into the Prime Ministerial box from the one beside it. In one hand he already had a blaster drawn. He was fully aware that the Federal Marshals would react quickly, but he had the advantage of surprise. Similarly, he knew that he did not have much time to aim, which is why he snapped off a single blaster shot quickly before he jumped out of the box to the floor of the theatre as the Federal Marshals fired after him. As he hit the ground he shouted, “Death to tyrants!” before making a run for the nearest exit. By that point the Marshals had rushed to the front of the box and an official inquiry would later state that thirteen shots were fired at Rask. All of them hit their target and collectively and definitively ended his life. As all of that occurred, Kerry screamed. Rask had been rushed in taking his lone shot and had missed the Prime Minister.

Instead, he hit her husband, wounding him below the left shoulder, inflicting severe internal damage.

That night, it would be reported that an extremist pro-Maple group had executed a plot to kill the Prime Minister, Deputy Prime Minister, and former Minister of State to revenge the Union victory against the Maple Flag Republic. The plot failed, but it did damage enough.

[hr][/hr]Petr Thanas Memorial Hospital, Salis D'aar, Bakura

Mihal was in surgery for a total of thirteen hours after being rushed to Salis D'aar General Hospital. The blaster bolt had not caught Mihal square in the back. If it had, he would have been dead on the spot. It had half hit his shoulder, the other half of the bolt catching the back of his seat, which exploded into his own back. The shrapnel damage was only the lesser of two evils. The work required to stabilize Mihal had been hard and long. However, Mihal survived, which was a relief to the exhausted Prime Minister who was his wife.

When she saw her husband, it turned out that all she could say about her husband was that he had survived--no more, no less. Mihal looked like death warmed over. The doctors had informed her that extensive cybernetic devices had been required to stabilize Mihal and they still wanted to replace his left lung due to concerns it too had been damaged. Part of Kerry wanted to cry, and that was both because her husband was alive and because of the fact he seemed barely alive.

"I don't know what to say other than I'm sorry," Kerry said through tears as she took her husband's hand, alone together for the first time.

"Yeah. Totally your fault. It was part of the twelve year plan for me to get shot," Mihal said, trying to smile through his pain.

"Haven't you figured it out by now? I'm not the sort of woman who takes no for an answer," Kerry said with a weak smile, "The kids are worried sick. They've been waiting to see you the whole night."

"Kerry, please don't bring them in here," Mihal said with the most pleading eyes he'd ever turned on his wife in all the years they'd known each other, "Don't let them remember me like this."

"What are you talking about?" Kerry said, genuinely baffled.

"I can't live like this Kerry," Mihal said, "I wouldn't have held on this long if I hadn't needed to tell you that you can't blame yourself for this."

"No Mihal. You cannot die," Kerry said, starting to get angry even though she was still crying.

"I would trade a century of convalescence for a minute of what we had together for so long," Mihal said, "You have been strong for Bakura for eight years, and you'll be strong for them for another four. Now you must be strong for our children. They will need you more than ever now."

"There are other ways, other things they can do," Kerry said, "This isn't over."

The visiting teams’ locker room was the usual sickly green color of the Chandrila Patriots uniforms and it made Meredith Chambers and the rest of the veteran Smugglers squad queasy. Contributing to her disgust for one half of the Burgundy and Green Brawl was the terrible singing of the crowd whenever the Patriots scored a goal. It was grating on the ears. But no amount of singing today could extract the want for total and utter domination of the age old Smuggler enemy.

Tonight was a clash of two Limmie juggernauts. Two squads that had a loathing for one another that nobody else could match. Voted by fans and media pundits as the dirtiest, bloodiest, most physical rivalry in the history of Limmie, this resumption of the Burgundy and Green Brawl had all the makings of a classic. Meredith Chambers, three time Galactic Cup champion squaring off against Reina Kether, herself a three time Galactic Cup champion. One was a player, one was a coach, but there could only be one victor. There could only be one team walking out alive from Stoney End Park with their heads held high in the glory of a win.

Both teams had a storied history, both were once part of the venerated ‘Old Guard’ and both had swapped plenty of blood, sweat, and tears from 228-230 ABY in titanic clashes in the greatest game of them all: the Galactic Cup of Limmie. Immediately, names from yore slipped into Chamber’s mind as she got the team pumped in the visiting tunnel. Tan Stensky, the Blond Wonder, the man who had done it all and Rhia Grames, the woman nicknamed the ‘Iron Lady’ by the Smuggler faithful, two legends in their own right, two legacies worth remembering, worth honoring, worth glorifying in the Limmie Hall of Fame. The struggle was venerated by the trophy given out to the winner of the Burgundy and Green Brawl known as the Cleats of Glory. One cleat from Tan Strensky, one cleat from Rhia Grames, mounted on a nice shiny piece of metal.

Reina Kether had been inducted into the Hall of Fame. She was one of the elite.

Meredith Chambers knew she would join her one day. But wanting ain’t getting. Everyone knew that. Everyone who had ever watched the game knew that what Kether had done for the Patriots, Chambers had done for the Smugglers. So now the galaxy watched one of the most anticipated games of the season, Smugglers-Patriots. Everyone knew what was at stake in the first conference contest for both squads. Every win counted. These next few weeks were critical and would show whether or not the Smugglers were ready to make another run at the championship. Now, the team had to rally behind Chambers, not just because she wanted another ring, but because they were fighting for something more, something deeper. The Smugglers were fighting for survival.

“Most of you have never played these guys,” Meredith yelled over boos and jeers from the crowd as the Smugglers assembled on the sidelines, “but I have! I know what it feels like to hoist the Cleats of Glory over my head, to do Rhia Grames proud! You never forget that Grames is the entire reason this organization is great! Never forget! So don’t go out there and win this one for me, go out there and win this one for her! I need the best Limmie I can get from you today, dear friends. I need your very best. For the burgundy, for the black, for Six Boroughs, for Nar Shaddaa, for all the garbage dumps in the Vertical City, for all the brothels where the whores moan, I need you to fight! Fight hard, fight proud, fight for all that you hold dear!”

The team was pumped. Locking arms around one another, they moved and swayed as one in a giant circle. They broke the huddle and headed out onto the field. Meredith tapped the posts of the goal, loosened up her shoulders, leaped and felt her fingertips brush past the top of the bar. She knelt down and rubbed a gloved hand across the freshly mowed blades of grass. Her nose twitched, a faint smile crept across her face as memories of the 262 match up came back to her. That had been a real dog of a match. A 5-2 Smuggler victory. Of course, she couldn't forget the 25-0 shutout in 265 the last time the teams had met. That had been a real kicker. But this was 273 and lots had changed. She'd gotten older, wiser, and still ran her mouth off like a rookie. That wasn't bad. People actually admired that about her. Those that didn't said what they needed to say.

Gark yawned once again, his eyes feeling somewhat bleary. He was down on the field for pre-game warmups for the Miners-Senators game that was coming up, but he just felt tired. He had been staying several long nights at the hospital over the past week, trying to keep his wife comfy as she slowly regained her health after a near-fatal experience. Thus, the night before this game, he had gone home and immediately fell asleep when his head hit the pillow. However, that had obviously not been enough to get him fully-rested, so he still felt the lingering effects of sleepiness as he went through the motions.

The Senators were warming up on the field, although “warming” was an interesting term to use here because there was a biting wind coming in through the stadium. Although the temperature was not quite freezing, it wasn’t exactly warm. Many of the players on both sides had elected to wear thermals underneath their uniforms to keep themselves warm during the game. The coaches and fans were also bundled up to deal with the cold, so this was going to be another long, cold game. Gark knew that he was going to at least be warm up in the Team box; dealing with adverse weather was something he didn’t miss about coaching.

Venn Sto, the Shistavanen goalie, was getting ready in the goal box, and the Senator forwards were taking their usual warmup drill to score on him. The first few shots were way off, and Gark had a sneaking suspicion that the cold had something to do with it. Things got better from there on both sides.

“Riff, make sure to paint the corners when the goalie does that!” Gark finally yelled to the Cathar forward.

“Still coaching, eh?” Pamila Korthe said from right next to the Bothan.

“Old habits die hard,” Gark replied. “When you’ve spent enough time coaching this team, you sometimes forget that you’re no longer the one calling the plays.”

“Hey, you’ll be nice and warm inside the box while we’re freezing our asses off out here,” Pam commented snidely.

“I’ve been through some crap games like this too, so don’t start on that,” Gark replied.

“How many snow games?” Pam asked, raising an eyebrow. She was referring to the 271 game between Bakura and Thyferra, in which snow had fallen heavily throughout the game. It hadn’t been pretty on either side, especially with the light pole that had decided to fall down inconveniently during the game.

“None,” Gark admitted. “I was lucky not to have to deal with that . . .”

“We’ve got company,” Pam said.

“What are you talking about?” Gark asked. He looked around to see several Senatorial Guards coming towards him. “Now what have I done?” he groaned. “Can’t a guy like me get a break once in a while from the headlines?”

“You got yourself into this,” Pam reminded him. “If you hated the headlines, then stop being GM and go retire somewhere. You know, now that you’ve got a few other things to worry about at home these days.”

“Yeah,” Gark said.

”Mr. S’rily,” came a voice from the middle of the group of Senatorial guards. Great, Gark thought, now the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, Kerry Trieste, had decided to pay him a visit down here on the field. It wasn’t like he despised Trieste . . . no, she was worthy of respect . . . it was just that the last week was wearing on him, and he just felt physically and mentally spent. Now was not exactly a good time for someone of her office to drop by, considering that Gark would probably say something stupid in his weariness.

"Forgive the intrusion, but we haven't had a chance to speak since the events last year at the Senate.” Kerry said.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Pam said, walking off to where the other Senator coaches were standing.

“I wanted to take a moment to convey the appreciation of the citizens of the Republic for your heroic actions that day, for what you did for all of us, for what you stood for." She paused, trying to find the right words for what came next. Meanwhile, Gark knew that he hadn’t really been thinking about that whole episode for quite some time. Settling down and retiring from his life of being a vigilante tended to do that to a person.

"Oh, by the by, allow me to extend my most heartfelt congratulations to you. I'm told that you and your wife recently welcome a son. That is a pleasure that is unrivaled by even being elected Chancellor, let me tell you." She leaned in closer, confidentially. Gark was unsure of what she was going to say here, because how often would the Chancellor of the Republic need to whisper to someone like this? "I'm told that there were some...tense moments during the delivery. I was very glad to hear that everyone is healthy and well. It's a terrible thing to..." The Chancellor stopped in midsentence, her mind seemingly elsewhere, for a moment. "Forgive me, I was only thinking of how fortunate it was that everything turned out all right."

“Thank you,” Gark said. He was trying to pick his words carefully . . . and then he had to stifle another yawn brought on by his sleepiness. “It’s been a rough week.” He paused at this, because there was no reason to go into detail; Kerry probably knew exactly what he meant, so it was probably better off unsaid.

“And about the Senate . . . just doing my job. Nothing more.” This was about as sanitized a way he could get this to come out; frankly, if he wasn’t talking to such an influential figure, this response probably would have been worded differently. He didn’t want to sound like a pompous ass out there; he was just trying to get by in his sleep-deprived state.

The Chancellor noticed the yawn and the fact that Gark was less than loquacious today. She suddenly had another memory come to mind--that of being a first-time parent and still holding down her day job, which back then had been a member of the Bakuran Senate. It would be prudent to wrap things up.

"It's been my experience that those beings who least seek thanks from others are most deserving of them," the Chancellor said, "So, again, thank you." She extended her hand towards the Bothan. "For everything."

"It's been my experience that those beings who least seek thanks from others are most deserving of them," the Chancellor said, "So, again, thank you." She extended her hand towards the Bothan. "For everything."

Gark returned the gesture, both beings shaking hands. He had a nagging feeling that this was going to make the tabloids almost instantaneously, because what media pundit would forgo such a cordial moment between two mega-personalities to cover something more menial? But, for the first time in a while, he didn't care about being a headline; for some odd reason, this seemed different. It was a nice way to wrap up the Superbothan portion of his past, and now he could focus on what lay ahead more readily than before.

Even before the Starkillers put their first points on the board Lucie had come to the conclusion that she liked Bakura. The stadium was beautiful, the crowd was civilized and the weather was gorgeous. Lucie hadn’t spent much time observing practices last week since her squad had been run off the field for any practice time, but it seemed those extra practices were paying off for the team. The biggest surprise to Lucie was the offense. Tory, Jul and Ishana were unstoppable. They moved down the field with grace. As if the playbook was choreographed. She had to give credit to the Miners though, they were not backing down. At half time the Starkillers were up by only three points.

At the beginning of the 2nd half Lucie heard a familiar snort. She looked up into the crowd to see none other than the Gamorrean from the draft. He was sporting a brand new Mith’tor’ado jersey and sitting in the 2nd row right in front of her. In his hands was a gigantic cup of fizz with a straw that had been chewed to bits. Lucie hid her disgust and tried to avert her eyes. How did he get up so close she wondered. A few plays later right after a spectacular pass from Ikell to Jul that allowed Ishana an easy score Lucie heard a commotion coming from the second row. The Gamorrean was arguing loudly with what appeared to be a few peaceful and upstanding Miners fans. She watched with amusement as they backed away when he snorted and grunted at them causing saliva and fizz to fly out of his mouth and nostrils. Suddenly the Gamorrean ran up the stadium steps, Lucie saw security coming down towards him on the other side and he must have seen them were coming for him.

It wasn’t quiet for long, the Gamorrean appeared several sections over, this time boldly enough in the very first row. He was waving his large souvenir fizz cup in celebration of another Starkiller score. This one Jul had hammered into the goal with speed Lucie marveled at. For a while after that it was quiet. The Starkillers were pulling farther and farther ahead. Lucie was supervising as a few of her lightest and most flexible females took turns climbing to the top of a dance squad pyramid and dramatically dismounting when she heard snorting again. This time it came from several rows up. Stadium security guards were on either side of the section where the Gamorrean fan was clearly trapped.

But this Gamorrean was not going peacefully. He walked over to one set of guards as if to surrender, when at the last minute threw the remainder of his fizz in the faces of the guards waiting for him. As they wiped their eyes he poured the ice from the cup at their feet and took off up the steps. All but one guard slipped on the ice and fell, the remaining guard was enough. He was much quicker than the Gamorrean and was able to grab his jersey and hold him long enough for a few other security guards to join him in apprehending the troublemaker.

Most fans never even noticed the commotion, they were in a daze of fustration and sadness as their team began to get further and further behind on the scoreboard. As Lucie watched the security guards escort him up the stairs wondered if she would see the Gamorrean again. She supposed she would find out at next week’s home game. She couldn’t remember a game without the Gamorrean at Bankers Mansion since she first started the squad. This was the first time she had ever seen him at an away game and the first time he’d caused any trouble, at least that she was aware of.

OOC note: I think that Gunny forgot to mention this, but his post reacting to Kerry coming on the field had slightly different dialogue from mine. I wrote mine before we knew that Me'lin survived. So as to lessen the tension of the moment, I wrote some new Kerry dialogue that reflected that. Hence the difference.

IC: Ayn DormingaleAndromeda Steel Corp. Field, Coruscant

"And what did Superbothan have to say?" Siona asked Kerry smartly when then Chancellor returned to the box.

The parents in the box shared knowing looks with each other. "Well, at least that's done with," Regan said. There was not much love for the Senators or the wonderboy who had turned the team from also-rans into perennial contenders in the Noble House--especially given the frequency with which the Miners had been bounced from the playoffs by Coruscant.

"At least he's no longer on the sidelines coaching," Ronan said.

"Not that Kor'the's much better," Mandy said.

"Gark's strength has always been his team management, not his coaching," Ayn said, "If he's still a GM, why are you happy he's no longer on the sidelines."

"He is a good GM, but he was the right coach for the Senators, still could be if he'd devote his time to it," Ronan said, "There are some beings who are just uniquely suited for a time and a team."

"Dana Roslyn, obviously," Ayn said.

"Absolutely," Kerry said, "But she wasn't the first great coach we hired."

"No?"

[hr][/hr]220 ABYOrd Mantell

Aine Trieste and Fionn Trieste sat at a table gazing into the stony gaze of a human male. For the last ten years, the Miners had been searching for the same spark that had galvanized them in their first year under Trieste ownership.

A lot had changed since then. For starters, the Miners had a home again. In late 219, the reconstruction of Bakura had been finished and resettlement on the planet had begun again. The ensuing 220 elections had returned Aine Trieste to the Galactic Senate now that Bakura had joined the Republic as a member world. More importantly, Fionn Trieste, who had resigned from Republican Intelligence at the end of the war, had been elected Prime Minister after he rekindled the old Fianna Fail party started by his ancestor, Fionn Cormac Trieste, the only other member of the Noble House to serve as Prime Minister of Bakura.

Bakura Gardens had been part of the reconstruction and the gleaming new home of the Miners in Salis D’aar was one of the finest facilities in the galaxy. Unfortunately, the emotional return to Bakura after years of “home games” on Vandelhelm had not produced the success on the field that Fionn and Aine had hoped for. The Miners were still the most visible symbol of Bakuran renaissance and the recently completed 220 season had been mediocre. Fionn and Aine wanted something to bind the planet together, whose population still identified with the worlds they’d emigrated from. The Miners were the best tool they had.

That was going to take a new head coach. Comran Kint had left by mutual agreement in 215 and subsequently taken the top job on Commenor and won a Galactic Cup two years ago. His two subsequent replacements had been of middling quality. The GM, Everard Lecrux, had performed a galaxy-wide search for another head coach and he had made a decision—but a decision that his ownership needed to approve.

That was why they were talking to the Defensive Coordinator of the Ord Mantell Scrappers. Well, talking was an exaggeration. Right now nobody was saying anything as they sat across a table from each other.

“So you would be…” Aine led off.

“Joe,” he said gruffly.

“Joe Manco, I believe?” Fionn said.

“My friends call me Blondie,” Joe replied.

Aine and Fionn raised an eyebrow at each other as they weren’t sure why he felt compelled to say that. “Mr. Manco,” Aine said, “We’d like you to be head coach of the Miners.”

“We’ve looked at your record on Ord Mantell and we think it’s what the Miners need,” Fionn said.

Manco said nothing for a few seconds. “Okay,” he said simply. Apparently that was his way of accepting the job.

“Wouldn’t you like to hear about the salary?” Aine asked.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Manco replied.

“Do you have any questions for us?” Fionn suggested.

“Nope.”

“You don’t talk much, do you Mr. Manco?” Aine said.

“Do you want a coach who talks much?” Manco asked.

“We want a coach who wins,” Fionn said without hesitation.

After a second’s hesitation, Joe gave the barest hint of a smile. “I think I like you, Prime Minister.”

[hr][/hr] 222 ABYSalis D’aar, Bakura

“She looks awfully raw,” Fionn said skeptically.

He was watching scouting footage with Aine in Everard’s office.

“I know,” Everard said, “but her fundamentals are good. If she wasn’t playing in the middle of nowhere, she’d be getting calls from Elite League teams.”

“She’s playing Division II,” Everard said, “With the proliferation of D-I schools out there, nobody bothers to go that deep. It’s too easy to just keep picking talent off from the Super 16.”

“If she’s good enough for the Elite League, why is she playing D-II?” Fionn asked.

“I’m guessing her game didn’t take off until college,” Everard said, “Doesn’t matter. What matters is I want to sign her.”

“You’re the General Manager, do it,” Fionn said.

“What’s her name?” Aine asked.

“Dana Roslyn.”

[hr][/hr] 223 ABYThe Tank, Mon Calamari

“A total collapse,” Jane sighed.

The Miners’ second Final under Trieste ownership had not been pretty. The Gundarks (thankfully not led by the now-retired Comran Kint, that would have been a bit too much) had mauled the Miners today. Bakura had turned in a strong 4-3 season, pulled in a 4th seed in the playoffs and had battled a tough top seeded Patriot squad to make the Final. The number two Gundarks were a well oiled machine and they attacked the Miners with a purpose. Their primary point of attack was rookie Dana Roslyn. The half forward was overwhelmed, often double teamed, and gave up the ball with several critical fumbles that the Gundarks converted into points.

It had not been much fun for Fionn and Jane to watch the match. Their eldest daughter Kerry, a mere four years old, was even less happy. After all, these were the Miners they were supposed to win. Jane had tried to use the moment to teach her young daughter that you didn’t always win. It was a tough lesson for her to accept.

“But always remember,” Jane told Kerry, “Just because we lost today doesn’t mean we have to like it.”

Fionn gave a look of disapproval to his wife over that one.

“It does mean that you should do your best to be a good loser,” Fionn said, “Sportsmanship is important dear.”

The redheaded girl didn’t seem to like any of these lessons. Her three year old siblings, the twins Fiona and Siona, even harder to reason with and two year old Conn was impossible. The only one of them who was taking this at all well was the newborn Regan who seemed rather oblivious to everything going on around her.

Aine’s young kids were sullenly slumped in their seats too. The Senator was absentmindedly stroking one of her boys’ heads to comfort him. The adults in the box could at least appear more stoic about the loss, but Aine knew that Fionn was torn up inside. He had been so enthusiastic about the Miners' appearance in the Final. It was what he’d been waiting for, the moment that they would finally bring Bakura together. It had worked so well—the new immigrants to the world had banded together to support the Miners in a big way during the playoffs. She knew that he wanted to bring the Galactic Cup home for them, if for no other reason.

Someone else who was clearly also very unhappy with today’s outcome was Dana Roslyn. Manco had stubbornly kept her in the game despite the fact she was getting destroyed by the Gundarks. And now that the game was over she was sitting on the field, arms around her knees—but not with the downcast look that her teammates had. She had that thousand meter stare, but it wasn’t one of despair. Jane picked up her macrobinoculars and focused on the rook. There was something in the set of Roslyn’s jaw. It wasn’t anger. It was determination.

[hr][/hr]The owners went down to the locker room to see the team. It was a hard journey to make.

“Bakura is proud of you, all of you,” Fionn said, “You fought well.”

“This sucks,” Dana Roslyn said from her stall. Though everyone was surprised she’d said it—to the Prime Minister no less—they all felt it.

“You think this over?”

Everyone turned to look at Manco leaning against a wall, forgotten in the entrance of the PM and Senator.

“It isn’t,” the head coach said. He walked out of the locker room without saying another word.

After some handshakes with the players and more words of consolation, Fionn, Jane, and Aine walked out of the locker room and into a hallway argument between the GM and head coach.

“She’s something special,” Joe was saying to the GM, “She’s got talent you don’t see every day. You need to build a team around her.”

“Look, talent doesn’t come cheap. I got the best team out there I could,” Everard said. It was then that he noticed the Triestes, “Mr. Prime Minister, Madam Senator, Mrs. Trieste.”

“Let’s ask the checkbook then,” Manco said. It was precisely the sort of flippant comment they’d come to expect from their head coach.

“You want to expand the payroll?” Fionn asked, intuiting the subject of their conversation.

“How much do you need?” was all Aine asked when she turned and addressed the coach and general manager.

[hr][/hr]225 ABYSolo Stadium, Coronet City, Corellia

The entire Trieste clan was leaning forward in their seats. It was 17-16 in favor of the Waves and the second half was nearly over. Cormac Adama had a penalty kick. He could put the game into overtime with a bar point. It wasn’t going to be a short one, but a good long kick from halfway into the offensive zone. Cormac had been solid in his free kicks this season.

“Mom, mom,” Siona said, pulling on her mother’s sleeve.

“Shhhhhhh, one second dear,” Jane said.

“But I—”

“Hold on a second honey,” Fionn said, cutting his daughter off. It wasn't exactly responsible parenting, but he was justifying it as an attempt to teach his daughter patience. It spoke to the gravity of the moment that not even his own daughter could divert his attention.

Cormac took two steps forward and then gave the ball a solid boot. It was looking like it was going straight and true…

“Yes, yes,” Aine said, clenching a fist as she rose slowly out of her seat.

“Come on,” Fionn said as he came to his feet.

“No, left, left,” Jane said as she picked up a subtle shift in the wind, trying to will the bolo-ball to curve.

The ball sailed to the right of the right post. No point.

The Miner fans groaned and the Waves fans were jubilant. Jane put a hand to her forehead. “Not again. Not again.”

The Waves had the ball, but they had to play keep away for scant seconds before the horn sounded. They had come so close, they had fought so hard. A 5-2 season and stellar playoff run was now all for naught.

“We almost had it,” Aine said with exasperation, “Almost.”

“Yes we did. And that’s why we stay the course,” Fionn said firmly, “These players have got it.”

For the third time the Noble House would have to watch as someone else raised the Cup. “We have some major contracts expiring,” Aine said, “They’re going to be expensive to re-sign.”

“We’re doing what it takes,” Fionn reiterated.

Down on the field, first year captain Dana Roslyn slammed a fist on the turf twice in anger. What was it going to take to win it all?

[hr][/hr]226 ABYVeterans Stadium, Fondordelphia, Fondor

Dana Roslyn laid her body out in front of the Whipid attacker for the Sandskimmers. He hesitated in his shot and that was enough to allow a Miner to wrap him up in a tackle. His window of opportunity was gone and players from both teams were piling on top of each other trying to get the bolo-ball.

But it didn’t matter. The game was over. And Dana Roslyn leapt into the air with both hands high above her head and screamed as she realized she’d just won the Galactic Cup.

Up in the owner’s box, Fionn Trieste gave a shout of “YES!” His wife jumped onto him and Aine pumped one fist into the air before her husband kissed her. Finally, in their fourth Galactic Cup Final, the Miners had won it all.

The two owners hugged and Fionn kissed Aine on the cheek. “We did it, Aine!” he said.

“Yes we did!” she said, “Didn’t I tell you we should buy this team?”

Fionn just laughed.

Down on the field, the pair of Triestes were the last of the Miners to lift the Galactic Cup. Though Aine was technically the majority owner, the pair had no qualms about hoisting the Cup together with broad smiles on their faces.

[hr][/hr]“And that’s the holo of that moment,” Ronan finished, showing Ayn on his datapad, “The Miners would go back to the 227 Final for a third straight year and lose to Coruscant.” The banker spat out the name. Being on the very planet made it no less pleasant. It was clear this was another reason to dislike the Senators. “Though Manco left Bakura, Roslyn in her last game as captain took them back to the ill-fated 232 Final against Denon.“It wasn’t a pretty game—I remember it even now, I was 13 at the time,” Kerry said,“I wished she’d gotten to go out on top. Those years were the closest we had to a golden age of Miners limmie—which isn’t saying much because we only brought home one Cup in the whole run.”

“You think anyone like Roslyn could ever come out of nowhere like that again?” Ayn asked.

Finally Setarcos felt like he was back home. As much as last season and a half was fun, being able to watch the matches in style up in the Owner’s Box, it still didn’t feel right. Even the friendly against the Bison that was held at the Grande Villa had a different feel to it since it was against a Premier League squad. Now this, this felt like home, playing in front of a home crowd, against an Elite League Squad, and winning.

The only thing was odd was the fact that there were visibly empty seats in the stadium. But he shook it off because now he got to do his favorite part of game day, the Post-game presser. Even when he was just a beat reporter, he loved sitting there in anticipation of what the Head Coach was going to say about their team. As the Head Coach he couldn’t wait to see what questions the members of the press could come up with in the few minutes after the match.

As he stood behind the podium he gave everyone a minute to settle in and make any final adjustments they needed to do to their recording devices. He also happened to have a small case that he carried up with him and set it down in front of him. Once he saw everyone was ready he began. “Let me just start off by welcoming everyone to what looks to be another exciting and successful Monarchs limmie season. It was nice to be able to have our first home game of the season be a victory, and for once no one got hurt while playing the Jets.”

The last part got a small chuckle from some of the members in the press pool, but for the most part they stayed calm. “Well, I guess if any of you have a question I will be open to answer them.” Immediately the one person that Setarcos had not missed stood straight up. “Mr. Rhemes, Jhym Ro’meo, CHS Sports Net, in 271 you stood on that very spot and told all of us that you quit because it was too hard to balance your duties as a GM and as a Head Coach. What has changed that you are now standing before us as the Head Coach of the Monarchs, while still working as the General Manager?”

Setarcos just shook his head, “ Well Jhym, I don't believe in living in the past. Living in the past is for cowards. If you live in the past, you die in the past. However, do you even remember what was going on two years ago? There was a War going on and about half of my team, no, my family was deployed to help maintain our freedom. I was forced to take on the added responsibility of being the GM with about a one week crash course before my predecessor left on military leave.”

“So it wasn’t for the credits? Or to cover-up your other activities?” Jhym fired back.

Setarcos just looked at him in absolute disbelief, “What exactly are you driving at Jhym?”

“Well, Setarcos, we are yet to see any of the details of your contract, or even the contract of any of the management staff for the Monarchs. Plus, traditionally when the position of Head Coach is vacated within the organization it has been filled by the Offensive Coordinator, who you have been romantically tied to. So one can only speculate…” Setarcos did not even allow Jhym to finish his sentence.

“You can stop right there! Listen up and listen up good. The contracts for management personnel are not a matter of public record and will not be released to the public. Now, if an individual wants to disclose the terms of their own personal contract, they are free to do so, but as far as my contract is concerned I am not going to reveal any details. However I will say this, if you don’t feel you are getting the most bang for your buck then consider the fact that you are getting both a GM and Head Coach for the price of one.” As soon as he said this, Setarcos noticed a slight grin that curled up on one side of the Bothan’s face.

“Well, since you brought up the issue of getting our credits worth, do you feel that the number of empty seats in the stadium is a direct result of the increased ticket prices and the down turn in the post-war economy of Rydonni Prime? And is it also true that you refused to pick up any undrafted free agents this year due to an undisclosed salary cap placed by the owners because the organization is having credit-flow problems?”

Setarcos could feel his blood pressure about to blow through the roof. But then he reminded himself of the fine he received the last time he let the Bothan reporter raise his ire even more. So he took a deep breath and slowly let it out before continuing. “Mr. Ro’meo, I don’t know where you get your information from or who your source is, but you need to do a better job of checking your facts before coming here and putting your foot in mouth. The Monarch organization has been and continues to be one of the financially solvent limmie organizations in the galaxy. The reason I did not go after any undrafted free agents is because we were able to fill our needs through the draft. Our draft class was filled with so much talent that players who were starters in the past, are sitting as reserves. So no, it has nothing to do with what you have theorized.”

As Jhym started to ask yet another question, Setarcos cut him off, “Since no one else seems to have any questions, I would like to take this opportunity to speak directly to my GM counterpart in the Mando’ade Mercs organization, Aay’han Vhett,” He opened up the small case that he had brought with him and pulled out an ELG-3A blaster pistol. As soon as it cleared the top of the case everyone in the press pool gasped, or took a step back, or both.

“Calm down, it’s not even loaded. This is a classic Diplomat’s Blaster dating back to the days of the Clone Wars. It has been handed down in my family starting with my ancestor who was a Senator in the Galactic Senate. I am so confident that the Monarchs will defeat the Mercs next week that I am going to wager my ELG-3A against Aay’han Vhett’s prized WESTAR-34 that she likes carry around with her. If the Monarchs are unsuccessful I will personally hand it over to Aay’han at the concussion of the match in the middle of the field. What do you say Vhett? Are you as confident in your squad as I am in mine?[/color]”

Taab sighed as the meeting of clan leaders reconvened, they had eliminated Vizsla as a candidate last week and there were a number of smiles around the Ordo camp. Vizsla would have made a prime
candidate due to his name recognition alone, his elimiantion greatly greased the skids towards Ordo's eventual coronation.

Taab had gone along with the plan to rid them of a Vizsla candidacy because both their fortunes were so closely tied together by the play of the Mercs. Every win would increase both of their standing, while every loss would see it drop. Since Taab could never overtake Vizsla he had to be taken out of the running. The concerted questioning of his dreams for the Mandalorian people, not far removed from his ancestors, along with a few back room deals had convinced the other clan leaders that Ordo and Taab were right to have their concerns.

It had been a success for them, one that was soon stymied by the Mercs loss earlier today. That lost prestige was now all on Taab, another reason for Ordo's smile perhaps. The team would have to do far better if taab were to have a chance to realize his ultimate dream. Now the debate had begun anew, and most of it centered on Taab and a young man who had thrown his buy'ce in the ring. A man calling himself a descendent of Fett.

He certainly looked the part, looking much like a younger version of the clones that made up much of the Merc's offense. He had done well for himself in his short career as well, but he lacked the seasoning that a true mand'alor should have. At least that had been Taab's argument. The young man's time may come, but not yet. Still debate raged through the hall, some of loud enough for anyone to over hear and some in hushed whispers among clan members.

With the loud hammering of a beskar hammer upon a forge the Commander of the proceedings called the hall to order and the voting began. If no clear consensus was reached, and Taab's name garnered
the fewest votes he would have to drop out of the race. Honor demanded it. He held his breath as the first votes were cast...

[hr] [/hr]

IC: Jaya "Barefoot" TamHer apartment, Keldabe, manda'yaim.

Jaya stared dejectedly at the computer terminal in her sparsely decorated apartment on the outskirts of the city. She hadn't quite known what to expect from the Mercs fan for their home opener, and to be honest it had been far worse than expected. It was an unruly mob of vulger, heavily armed and armored "fans" that seemed to take pleasure in mocking her for her beliefs and her subsequent relegation to the bench. It angered her, but she had to admit that those same fans were into every aspect of the game.

However, as the score got more out of hand and a loss seemed assured the fans turned all their attention to her. It was all she could do to not retreat from the field and back to the locker room before the match had ended. But she hadn't. She had sat there stoicly on the bench, taking the worst insults the mandos could throw at her. She watched as the team left the field in defeat, knowing in her heart that her play could have helped them win. She dressed back into her street clothes, her jersey unsullied, and made her way back home without talking to anyone from the team.

She knew when the next practice was, and no one seemed eager to engage her anyway. But now at home she saw the the Crusaders had lost as well. Though once again Broussard had done a reasonable job, she scored only 3 points. Jaya knew it would only be a matter of time before she was replaced. So now she sat typing up her request...nay her demand for a trade to the Ylesia Lightning. They had seemed so smooth out there today, so fluid and in control of the game from beginning to end. Coach Vizsla's wide open offense had provided multiple avenues for the all non-human lineup to attack and exploit, and they had done so magnificently. Jaya felt her own skills would fit in perfectly.

Her message complete she sent it off to both the team GM Vhett and her agent. She knew her agent would be upset with him for bypassing him, but she felt there was little choice, she had to get off
of this team, no matter the cost.

[hr] [/hr]

Aay'han VhettGM's office, Meshla Vhetin, manda'yaim

It hadn't been a good week for the GM of the Mercs. The 37-20 loss to the Lightning was their first home loss in over a year to a real opponent. The fact that it took place in their home opener made it all the worse. Now word had come through that KMI's star midfielder had gone down with a season ending, perhaps career ending injury. Vhett had been scouting the young woman for the past two years, and now her efforts there appeared to have been wasted. The job hadn't been made any easier with Taab always away at MandalMotor hall. At least it allowed her to once again run the team as she saw fit however.

One of the decisions she had to make was regarding their new backup forward, the Togruta, Tam. According to the scouting reports she had seen before the draft the woman was an amazing talent. She
had both great athletic skills and amazing instincts for the game. But according to Vizsla she was uncoachable, and he had ensured that she wasn't active for either game thus far. Now Tam's trade demand was sitting on Vhett's desk.

Vhett's eyes glazed over as she stared at the holo-screen at the other end of her office. "How do you solve a problem like Jaya?" She asked aloud, though no one was in the room with her. Give in to her demand and she would be taking pennies on the credit for the woman. Not to mention the fact that it would make it look like the players ran the Merc's organization. Worse still it would be admiting a failure on her part, and a failure to an aruetii to boot. Vhett couldn't just give in to the demand.

But looking at it analytically she knew she had to do something. They had used a high draft pick on Tam, having her sit inactive game after game was a waste of a vauluable resource. The team should try to recoup that any way possible. There had to be some solution to this issue.

She had other issues on her mind as well. Word had come to her that the Monarchs GM, Setarcos had intended to make a wager with her regarding the upcoming match. Her eyes once again flashed with
anger. As if that arrogant aruetii could dictate to her the terms of a wager. She knew Taab would have been impulsive enough to go through with it, but depite her anger she could retain her cool demeanor. There would be no bet with Setarcos and the Monarchs. Such petty things were beneath her and the Mercs organization. If the Monarchs and their fans wanted to take them to task for that, so be it. They were aruetiise, their opinions were of no concern to her.

With that decision made she once again turned her attention to the Jaya problem, but was distracted as the bold red and gold "BREAKING NEWS" flashed across the screen. "Volume" she said aloud, bringing the sound online just in time to catch the end of the overly dramatic breaking news sound effect. She had her screen turned to the Vornskr News Channel. It was supposed to be the "conservative" network, but Vhett didn't see it. If anything she found it no where near conservative enough.

The image disolved to that of an attactive Zelton female sitting behind a transparent news desk, as always the woman's skirt was too short and absurly low cut. No doubt a partial reason for Vornskr's tremendously high ratings. The Zeltron on the holo-screen began to speak. "This is Kelli Megans of Vornskr news with an update. Black smoke has been seen rising from the chimney at MandalMotors Hall on Mandalore. We don't have holo confirmation for that just yet, but we have received reports that another round of voting has occurred on Mandalore and that the Mandalorian people are still without a leader. Stay tuned for more updates as we get them."

Vhett rolled her eyes before uttering a single syllabal. "Off." the holo-screen blinked out and Vhett made a quick call confirming the news. Another vote had indeed taken place, but who was eliminated and who was still in the running remained a mystery.

“The big club called, and said that they needed her right away,” Lorrin Malestra, the Force GM, said to the Head Coach. “You should have expected this to come, Jed; it’s what this team is here for.”

“It’s just . . . I liked having her and Tank play together in the Back 6,” Jed said. The player he was referring to was Reena Wyley, the CorTech product who had just been called up by the Senators to fill their vacant Half Back spot after the season-ending injury diagnosis to starter Saram Golyxi. “They did so well last week . . . Now I’m going to have to bring in someone off the bench.”

“You don’t trust your reserves?” Lorrin asked inquisitively.

“Not as much as I would like,” Jed admitted. “They have talent . . . but Wack hasn’t ever started a game for us, and Kiek is still getting the playbook down. I take it that he was signed just to have another warm body on the bench, and really isn’t expected to start?”

“Pretty much,” Lorrin said. “You should ask Gark what his intentions were on that signing.”

“I’m going to have to give Wack the nod this next week; I don’t have a choice in this matter,” Jed finally said.

“Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, he hasn’t exactly had a chance to play much yet,” Lorrin said. She was referring to the three-team trade that had brought Wack, along with Wylega Zola and Myles Tormera, to the Senator organization from the Euceron Storm. The other two had long since made the big show, but Wack had been stuck behind a glut of talent at the Half Back positions, and the attempts by the Force to move him to Corner Back, a position of more need for the Senators, hadn’t worked out so well. “This might be his chance to prove his worth. Maybe not here, but someone will want to take a flier on him.”

“His future career isn’t my concern,” Jed replied. “I need him to play now, and I couldn’t care less right now what he’ll be doing next season.”

“Stressed?” Lorrin asked.

“A little,” Jed said. “Last week’s game was great, but I’m still new to this coaching thing. It’s tough.”

“All great coaches had to fight through that at some point,” Lorrin said. “Just keep your chin up and work at it until it sticks.”

Minutes later, Jed received a call from someone he was very familiar with. “Hey Jed,” came the voice of Pamila Korthe, the new Senators Head Coach who had once been the Coach above Jed here for the Force.

“You poached Wyley from me,” Jed said, not amused.

“Look, Jed, you knew this was going to come at some point,” Pam said.

“At the end of the season, maybe, but not when my team is on a roll!” Jed exclaimed. “We creamed our opposition last week, and now I’m losing my best Half Back.”

“Jed, you’re just going to have to deal with it,” Pam finally said after a few seconds of silence. “But take heart; you’re doing a great job so far. I’m proud to see that my coaching abilities have rubbed off on you.”

“Speaking of which, you still owe me dinner,” Jed said, changing the subject.

“Next time you’re out on Coruscant, we’ll get around to that,” Pam said, sighing. “And before you say anything, no, it won’t be a dinner date. You aren’t going to sucker me into that.”

“You owe me two; one for dinner, the other for poaching my best Half Back,” Jed prodded.

“Oh all right,” Pam said. “You’re just so difficult to deal with sometimes.”

“I learned from the best,” Jed said, smirking even though the Zeltron wasn’t able to see it.

“Thanks loads,” Pam said. “Fine. Dinner date, and I say that lightly, next time you’re out this way.”

“I’m glad we’ve had this talk,” Jed said. “Oh, and could you please wear that fancy dress you had at the Awards ceremony a few years back?”

“Good-bye, Jed,” Pam said roughly, cutting the connection.

“Love you too,” Jed said jokingly. Well, that had turned out pretty well; he may have lost Reena to the Senators, but he had just one-upped his former boss and scored dinner date. Not bad for a few minutes’ work, he thought.

TAG: No One

Although I think Trieste will get an unintentional kick out of this one.

Some were nervous about playing the Mercs, with their stadium packed with armoured warriors who were known throughout the galaxy for their toughness, and playing a team of the same. Zoa feasted upon the atmosphere. The Lightning had never played so well, after their initial nerves dispersed. This was to be the first game for their first round draft pick, Prya Tiin, and she handled herself excellently in the midfield, making few of the rookie mistakes they usually expected from young players. If she kept it up, she'd have that spot secured on the roster.

The fans seemed to recognise when the game was out of reach for their Mercs, and moved onto insulting what seemed to be one of their own. She had no idea who it was they were insulting, but she felt a bit disappointed they didn't keep up the stream of abuse toward her team; Zoa enjoyed it more than she ought to. Abuse from reporters was intolerable, but from fans when their team was losing? She revelled in it. It meant she was doing her job, her team was doing its job.

After the game, Prya's interviews were interrupted by teasing jeers and cheers from her teammates, and she couldn't quite hide her smile. Zoa stowed her gear and waited for the holos to come her way.

"It's got to feel good, beating the Mercs on their home field." That was Lejique, their new team reporter. She'd be keeping the others from antagonizing the Captain and other players, and so far she was doing an excellent job, though Zoa was in a good enough mood she could handle what mud they wanted to sling.

"It feels fantastic to have a win under our belt," she grinned. "We've still got a long way to go this season, but we've shown what we can do, that we deserved to be moved up a league."

"What do you think of Prya Tiin's play in her first game?" another reporter asked.

"I think she's doing great, and we're lucky to have picked her up in the draft." She sent an encouraging smile to the Togruta, who was still getting back slaps from her teammates. First games were worth celebrating, especially when they won those games. She had no doubt there'd be a bit of a party tonight or tomorrow to celebrate, but certainly wouldn't let that slip to the holonews.

"What are your thoughts on the Mercs play today?"

"They're a good, strong team, and we just managed to capitalize on their mistakes. I'm sure they'll make it twice as hard at our next meeting." There was certainly more to their win than what she said, but honour dictated that she wouldn't insult a team she just beat. They'd save that to the team holoreview this week when they looked for their own mistakes and tried to improve.

The reporters dispersed, and Kasin slunk over to whisper a time and place for their little celebration that night. Time to welcome Prya fully to the team.

The Hammer Falls in the Valley
GOLDEN PRAIRIE, BAKURA--The Bak10 Conference today announced that the University of Bakura, Telaan Valley Pionners have been barred from postseason play in 273 as a result of recruiting violations spanning the last several years.

"Our investigation shows that serious violations were committed at UBTV," the League said in its press release today. UBTV will not only be barred from Bowl games, but they will also lose two scholarships for the next three years.

Outspoken Pioneers' head coach Bryan Cluff was reprimanded by name in the report for "lax institutional controls and likely turning a blind eye" to violations. The head coach was fined and placed on probation by the Conference. Cluff immediately responded to media in the Valley saying, "They didn't even definitively find me guilty and yet the fined me and put me on probation. I'm either guilty and they have proof of that or they don't and I'm innocent. I intend to file a grievance with the GCAA over the actions taken by the Bak10 to clear my name."

In the short term, however, sources say that the GCAA will not be taking any action on the postseason ban or the loss of scholarships. This means that the Pioneers will not be eligible to participate in either the Carnation Bowl nor the college championship. The Bak10 has said, however, that if UBTV wins the round-robin play, UBTV will be allowed to call themselves the 273 Bak10 champions.

Falene Trieste's Uphill Helmsman Battle
Bakurans are all too-familiar with the Core-world bias in the Helmsman voting process--even when the conference sends back-tob-back teams to the college final. Last year's wonder girl Falene Trieste has played well early on for the Rangers and is considered by Bak10 fans to be a likely candidate for the Helmsman in her Senior year with PCNS.

The problem is that she plays in the Bak10. No, not because it's on the edge of the known galaxy. The problem is that the Bak10's players are 90% human.

Yes, Trieste has put together impressive statistics and seems destined for a contract with the Miners (ironically, the Chancellor has publicly stated that she can't talk to her own daughter about Falene's draft plans--or lack thereof--because of GCAA rule clarifications in the wake of the Cundertol-A&M affair), but she's put those stats together against human competition. In the Super 16, players with identical stats get more respect with good reason. They're outplaying Herglics, Wookiees, Nautolans, Iktochi, Rodians, Zeltrons, Besalisks, and all manner of other talented species. This is inherently going to get more attention from the Coruscant Athletic Club than a player who is playing against humans all week.

To their credit, the Bak10 has begun to diversify its recruitment of players to improve its prestige. His speeches at the Elite League awards aside, Quinn Cundertol has done good on Bakura by breaking the human/near human monopoly on the Miners. He's spoken publicly about the need for Bakuran sports to broaden the demographics of its players. The head coaches of the Bak10 have listened, but change is coming slowly.

It may not be soon enough for Falene Trieste. She will likely need a second straight Bak10 title to be in the Helmsman discussion. But, then again, stranger things have happened in the world of collegiate limmie.

It's a good day to be a road team, it seems. Sorry Smugglers that this had to happen to you, but...

[hr][/hr]Stoney End Park, Hanna City, Chandrila

Reina Kether was all smiles as the clock ticked down. She'd given the Smugglers the ultimate insult. She'd put her reserves in ten minutes ago. With a double digit lead she'd dared the Smugglers to come back, given them every opportunity to do so.

And they weren't going to.

Kether waved her hand to her starters on the bench. She wasn't putting them in now. She was doing something far worse. She was setting up the holo op.

They proudly in a line at the edge of the field, perfectly positioned for all of the holojournalists to snap all the pics they wanted. From left to right, Cortina Shakalaka, the Theelin corner back that had taken McTodd completely out of the game; Norran Findal, the midfielder who had been all over the field today, wherever the bolo-ball was coming down; Kether herself; Elebraith Kex, the dynamic Omwati half forward who was one of the smartest players Kether had ever seen; Leda Shakabit, the "ball of fire" Chadra-Fan who, despite her size, was leading the Patriots in scoring this season; and Keline Socken, the goalkeeper who had now played two single digit games this season.

The crowd at Stoney End was swelling with sound. They knew that victory was imminent and they couldn't wait, even though it wouldn't be much longer. The closer they got to the buzzer, the louder they got. When it finally went, the Patriot Nation exploded. Their first home win since returning to the Elite League and against the Smugglers no less. There was a lot to be happy about.

Kether couldn't help but smile as that familiar music started playing over the sound system. "Stoney End", the pop ballad that always played after a Patriot win at home. It was sweet, sweet music to Reina's ears as she went to the middle of the field for the traditional end of game handshakes with the Smugglers. This one wouldn't be very pleasant for the Smugglers. The last one hadn't been for the Patriots, so in Kether's eyes the Nar Shaddaa squad could just deal with it.

But most important was the handover of the Cleats of Glory, which were coming back to their rightful home. Patriots captain Avano Koobis raised them high over her head to the ecstasy of the crowd. The ghost of Rhia Grames would likely rest a little uneasier for the next year.

There was one thing that Reina Kether had realized years ago, and that was that to achieve greatness, you needed a formidable opponent. That opponent deserved their due and their respect, so Kether sought out Chambers, knowing that she may never have the chance to shake the goalkeeper's hand on the field of battle again.

"See you in the playoffs?" Kether asked. It was very much a speculative question. The arch Patriot might pay respect, but she couldn't resist a subtle taunt all the same.

"Going down to Stoney EndI never wanted to goI never wanted to goGoing down to StoneyI never wanted to goI never wanted to go..."

To the uninitiated, it didn't make much sense for the Patriot fans to be singing such this song. After all, they loved going down to Stoney End on a day like this. It was more a manifestation of what they imagined the thoughts of the Smugglers to be right now than anything else.

As the Patriots left the field and headed for the tunnel, they raised their hands over their heads and clapped. It was their traditional sign of appreciation for the fans who were so stalwart in their support of the team. Kether joined in with a wide smile on her face.

"See you in Keldabe!" she told the fans as she headed into the tunnel.

The Senatorial Showdown game between the Bakura Miners and the Coruscant Senators was, as usual, hard-fought. Both sides seemed to be scoring at will, and when the teams weren’t scoring, they were scrapping as hard as possible. Neither defense could get set as the ball seemed to whiz around the air like angry mynocks, and what hits there were seemed to be more luck than actual skill.

As the game wound down, things were still close. Neither team could pull away from the other all game, and this wasn’t going to change, Gark knew. He had seen enough rivalry games in his time as GM to know that these kinds of games would not become blowouts; neither team was weak enough to let that happen.

As the Miners rotated the ball around in the offensive zone, the Senators frantically tried to settle the defense in. Zummarrorroo, the auxiliary Half Back playing a swing position in the Senator 1-3-3 zone which had worked so effectively last week against Onderon, was having no luck whatsoever. The faster Miner forwards were making him ragged as he tried to keep up. The problem was obvious; Saram Golyxi, who at Center Half Back was at the top of the key in this formation set, was lost for the year with a torn Achilles muscle, which forced Ortho Dyhon into the set. Dyhon wasn’t as fast as Golyxi, and thus wasn’t able to do his job effectively. Also, missing Evis Kunat, the Half Back super-sub, also hurt, so depth seemed for once to be a problem for the usually-deep Senators.

The ball made its way around the field, each Miner player touching it at least once it seemed. Finally, a shot came off the hands of a forward, and it was blocked by Shev Fil’yer, the Noghri Full Back. Venn Sto, the Shistavanen goalie, caught the ball in mid-air. He checked his options down the field, and readied his drop kick. The ball came down, and he smacked it back into the air. But before his leg could come back down to the turf, Dirxx Horstse, who had been backed up after getting a smack in the side of the face from a Miner forward who was jockeying for a block attempt, ran right into the goalie’s foot. The Besalisk fell on top of his teammate’s leg, twisting it in the process. Venn yelped out in pain, which sounded more like an angry roar than anything else. Dirxx moved off, but Venn couldn’t move easily. He rolled onto his side and started to crawl back to the sideline because play hadn’t been stopped yet. Alysha Romax, the veteran midfielder, stopped when she noticed that Venn was down, and tried to motion to the ref. Unfortunately, the ball came in her direction, and she got blindsided by Everett North, who was playing the ball well as he had done all game long. Alysha was able to shake off the hit, but still no call.

Finally, the refs noticed the injury and called the play dead. Pam was furious down on the field at the ref, screaming in the Head Ref’s ear about how they hadn’t caught the injury beforehand and let play resume. It was mostly because of Venn’s injury, but Alysha trying to call out the injury and getting popped was also the focus of her ire.

It took a few minutes to get Venn off the field, and Gark had the sickening feeling that the starting goaltender was also lost for the year. This caused Jayla Leed to come on in relief, and this brought the Senator faithful into a state of queasiness. Leed was remarkably talented, but she lacked consistency. Now she was the only hope the team had to finish off this game and go to 3-0 on the season.

It didn’t work. Leed, cold off the bench, was easily beaten by Dorf Landa on a shot into the net. The Senator fans groaned; they had seen this time and again from the UCBV product, and a few boos came from the crowd. This probably would not have been the case had Leed been close to making a play, because Landa was good. Real good. But she was way of the mark, and it showed that she still didn’t have the dedication that she needed to be successful.

“Looks like you’re going to have to bring up another goalie,” Londy Whiste, the “owner” of the Senators, commented to Gark as Leed put the ball in play.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Gark said, sighing. Leed had been good in college, but she still had many things to learn in the Elite League game. “But I’m not too enamored with what we have down at Thyferra, though, so we’ll have to make do with what we have.”

“Are there any decent free agents?” Londy asked.

“Yes, but the one I’m thinking of would ask too much for salary to potentially be a backup goalie,” Gark replied. “We’re going to deal with what we have now.”

The game began to slip away from the Senators, and despite the efforts of the offense to get the team back in the game, it wasn’t enough. The game ended 37-30 in favor of the Miners, and the Senator fans were depressed. They had just lost this game, and now it would be a tough uphill climb to get back into the swing of things in the Solo Conference, which was now just a complete bloodbath. It wasn't a good feeling for the veterans who had announced their end-of-season retirements weeks earlier; to lose to Bakura hurt quite a bit, and they had to hope that another playoff game between the two teams would come out differently.

Gark went down to the team locker room after the game to listen in on what was being said. Many of the players were bruised and bloody, their jerseys stained with grass, dirt, and sweat. It had been a tough fight, and they hadn’t given up, but it was just wasn’t to be today.

“I can’t believe this happened again,” Pam said to her troops. “We let Bakura score more than 30 against us again. This is unacceptable, including myself. We need to get our defense back under control next week, or we’re toast.”

After the pep talk, and the players had started changing back into their street clothes, Gark got a chance to talk to his replacement as Head Coach. “Tough loss,” he said.

“Yeah,” Pam replied. “Can’t complain too much about this one, because we gave it our best shot. Had Venn not gone down . . . I don’t know, maybe we could have pulled this one out,” she said with a shrug.

“It doesn’t get any easier,” Gark said. “This conference is going to be difficult as usual, so I estimate that we need to rack up at least three wins here to avoid tiebreakers. And now we only have one loss to spare before things get dicey, so we need a win next week.”

“I hear you on that,” the Zeltron said. “And about replacing Venn in goal. I’d say Kapp down on Thyferra would fit the bill for our backup.”

“Do you really trust Leed to start?” Gark asked.

“No, but I don’t have a choice now,” Pam replied. “Besides, I’ll let Kapp get a shot at starting next week. Leed will probably go next week, but I want to see which player wants the starting job more.”

“I just hope we don’t lose momentum,” Gark commented.

Later on, Gark climbed into his speeder and just sat there for several seconds. The game had been tough, and at least it wasn’t a bad loss. It was just a moment of him missing coaching, he guessed; it was coming back to haunt him. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he revved up the speeder and left the team lot. Off he was to the hospital once again to check up on things. He was getting mighty sick of being there, but he hoped his presence was worth it.

“Winifred will have to go in for him. McTodd is finished,” Everoux repeated as he put on his headset and went back to scowling on the sidelines.

Meredith’s shoulders slumped. Today had been a real nightmare. The Patriots had exploited every weakness in the Smugglers defense and made her look like a young rookie out there. She had been so pumped before the game, really expected the team to step up and fight hard, but instead they’d fallen flat. To add insult to injury, Chambers had to go against the Patriots reserves and they weren’t slouching today either. The break ended and she returned to the pitch.

Her eyes flipped to the clock. The game was almost over. Just a few more series and then she could say goodbye to Chandrila. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the way she had intended things to be. But then again, what in life was a certainty? The game was well out of hand and the Smugglers were in last place in the Solo Conference. Unless they won out, things weren’t looking so hot.

The game ended. Chambers looked at the sea of green, the throng of Chandrilan faithful, and realized that her time had passed her by. Things that were in the past couldn’t be resurrected. Was this what Rhia Grames felt when she was nearing the end?

What had gone through her mind when she no longer could compete at a high level? How things had changed. Now, the Cleats of Glory were being passed over to some young Patriot. Meredith could hardly look. It was as if her career was flashing right before her eyes. The dawning of a new world for Limmie, a world without Meredith Chambers.

Kether was in front of her now. The woman with those cold eyes, the eyes of a killer but there was respect as well. Maybe Chambers saw something in Kether that was a glimpse at what she could be one day. Limmie didn’t have to end when she hung up her cleats. She’d never really talked to Cutter about her life with the team after she no longer played on the pitch. There had been a strong tradition in the Smuggler organization to take care of those who had served them well.

"See you in the playoffs?" Kether asked.

Meredith merely shook her hand and brushed past her. Kether knew that one was a zinger. Knew that comment would go straight to her core and it might’ve on any other day but today Meredith was thinking about next week’s game. Kether was over and done with. As were the Patriots and their entire Nation, fine with her, she’d find ways to spend her time productively.

She took one last look at Stoney End Park, one last look, and disappeared into the tunnel.

So long, Chandrila.

[hr][/hr]

Studio A, Fyre Storm, Nar Shaddaa

“What is going on with the Smugglers these days? They look like a team that has lost its way?” Carly Fyres, host of Fyre Storm, asked.

“But time is running out. You’re leaving after this season and the Smugglers are looking to be basement dwellers. Any chance you guys can get your act together and help put you into the post season?”

“Time’s been running out for years. The clock started the moment the 270 season came to a close,” Meredith replied, “but I think that the team is working hard at making sure we cover our bases here and play some solid Limmie. The last few weeks have shown me that we have a lot of improvement, especially on offense. They’ve been closed down two games in a row now and even in our season opener against Vandelhelm, we didn’t wow the crowd with an explosive attack.”

“Do you feel it is the coordinator? The play calling? What would you say is the main problem for the Smugglers?” Fyres asked.

“The coaching staff is excellent. I think that teams have really adjusted well to the plays we’ve ran over the last few seasons and that’s showing up on the field. They’ll recognize our formations, our reads, and it makes things easier for them. These are things that can be changed. We’re a little under halfway through the season and there’s plenty of time to turn this ship around. All is not lost yet.”

“You play Coruscant next week. Your last Rim War game. Any thoughts?”

“I’m going to miss the Senators. They’re a great team, lots of guys over on that roster that I know well. Yeah, like family, but family that likes to fight rather than breaking bread.”

Oshi Shilou (Human, Male, Half Back, Rydonni Prime Monarchs) signed to a one year contract

Keln Kutran (Human, Male, Corner Back, Rydonni Prime Monarchs) signed to a one year contract

Sugnok Umanh (Human, Male, Center Half Back, U. of Be'Nal, undrafted rookie) signed to a one year contract

Bry Dougant (Human, Male, GVSU, Midfielder) signed to a one year contract

[hr][/hr]Euceron Stadium, Eusebus, Euceron

"Gentlebeings, good afternoon," Commissioner Kayl'hen said, standing outside Euceron Stadium before the game, Storm fans heading into the stadium, Lightning fans dotted among them, "I'm looking forward to today's game between the Storm and the Lightning, but I'd like to make an announcement.

"The Galactic Cup Final Selection Committee has reviewed all applications for the 118th Galactic Cup Final and, after careful consideration, Euceron has been awarded the Final. This will dovetail with Euceron's hosting of the 172nd Galactic Games and connect Elite League Limmie to this great and hallowed tradition of athletic excellence. The renovations made in the last few years by Euceron in Euceron Stadium will make this a truly first class event. I'm looking forward to being back here at the end of the season. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a limmie game that's about to get started and I'd hate to miss the start."